by GARY DARBY
“And am I absolutely certain that he almost killed me with that ‘foil’ of his?” I retort. “Absolutely.”
Amil begins to shake his head from side to side as if he doesn’t quite believe me but can’t discount what I’ve said either. Slowly he says to no one in particular, “Only royals and landed gentry carry rapiers.”
His heavy breathing is like a giant bellow going in and out. He peers at Phigby. “Do you know who was in that barn?”
Phigby shakes his head in answer. “No, but now that I’ve heard Hooper, I certainly would like to know for I suspect that whoever it was is also behind this King’s Warrant.”
Amil gives Phigby a sharp look. “You’re not suggesting — ”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Phigby is swift to respond. He gives Cara, who’s remained silent this whole time, a quick glance. “Other than it may well be that it wasn’t a Wilder clan chieftain who led the attack on Draconstead.
“Besides, none of us would make such an accusation without more proof than the fact that a supposed Wilder carried a rapier.”
Phigby gestures to me. “Finish your story.”
I shrug one shoulder and say, “There’s not much more to tell. I ran from the barn into the forest, found Golden Wind and eventually we made it to Fairy Falls. After that, you three showed up.”
Of course, there’s much more to tell than that regarding Golden Wind, but I’ve a promise to keep, and keep it I shall.
Phigby then says to Amil, “When we met up at the falls, and after discussing it at length, we decided that the Wilders were between us and both Wynsur and the nearest Great House, so we flew west to obtain some space and time.
“We were looking for a safe way to get the golden to Wynsur, but we were attacked by a swarm of Wilders early this morn and let’s just say that through a miracle on high made our escape to this place.”
“So you do have the golden?” Amil bluntly questions.
Phigby eyes us all before shrugging as if it didn’t matter that he revealed the golden’s presence here. “Yes, we have her. For the moment, she’s safe.” He stops and murmurs, “But for how long . . . ”
Helmar clears his throat and says, “There’s one more thing. I’m convinced that the attack at Draconstead wasn’t isolated. I believe the Wilders also attacked the Manor House where Cara’s father and brother were, not to mention the captain of our knights’ company as part of their overall plan.”
His voice becomes almost toneless. “It may well be that Prince Aster was there as well though I didn’t see him before I skyed back to Draconstead.”
“He’s safe and unharmed,” Amil returns. To Helmar’s questioning expression he adds, “The King’s Crier said as much that Prince Aster had escaped the attack unscathed.”
Cara reaches out a hand, and I can see in her eyes the question she wants to ask but can’t bring herself to voice.
As if hearing her unspoken question, Amil turns sad eyes on Cara and says, “Mistress Cara, I cannot confirm that your father or brother are dead, but I can say that Lord and Lady Lorell plus every knight that was at the manor died in the attack. It was part of the proclamation that the rider read.”
He then points at Helmar and says, “And it names you as the conspirator who organized the ambush and fled just before the attack. Thus ensuring your own safety.”
He pauses before saying, “And it proclaims that those who stole the golden are in league with the Wilders and, therefore, their lives are forfeit to the crown.”
He lets out a breath and jabs a finger at us. “Meaning, all of you.”
Chapter 18
“What!” Helmar thunders and jumps to his feet his fierce glare centered on Amil. I hope he’s not foolish enough to attack Amil in such close quarters, but his bulging neck muscles, his face as red as a ripe tomato makes me scoot as far away from the two as I can. Swords and axes swinging in such cramped quarters is going to get someone entirely innocent hurt or killed. Like me.
“Helmar!” Phigby’s voice is sharp, commanding. “Amil is not the one doing the accusing. You don’t sword-gut the messenger, lad. Now, sit down and let’s talk and think this through.”
For a few more heartbeats, Helmar stands glowering before his face finally softens a bit and he mutters, “My apologies, Amil. Phigby is right; I should not be angry at you. But to be accused of such . . . That anyone could think I was capable of such a traitorous act against Master Boren . . . ”
His voice chokes and for an instant, I can see that Helmar may not have loved Master Boren as Cara loves her father, nevertheless, his respect and admiration are real for the man, and Boren’s death has struck deeper than I suspected.
It’s a revelation to me that outside that gruff, hard shell of his, Helmar can actually feel, for others other than himself and Cara.
Amil holds up a hand. “No need to apologize, I would be angry too, if I were suspected of such.”
“It makes no sense at all,” Helmar growls as he slowly sits. His face has gone from bright red to a dark almost purple hue. “We risked our lives against the Wilders, we’re the ones who saved the golden from them and if it weren’t for us, Golden Wind — ”
“Would be in the hands of whoever led the Wilders,” Cara murmurs softly.
Cara is pressing her face into her hands. Amil’s news has reopened the still fresh wound, and I can hear the soft sobs. Phigby drapes an arm across her shoulders. “Perhaps, this is actually good news, my dear.”
She lifts her tear-stained face. “No news is good news, Phigby?”
“Perhaps,” he shrugs. He glances up at the big man. “Amil?”
Amil shakes his head. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know.”
We all fall into a deep silence. A king’s bounty on our heads, I think to myself, and now not only accused of stealing the golden but of being in league with those monsters, the Wilders.
I break the silence by whispering, “Can it get any worse?”
I glance up at Phigby. His expression is honest, frank. It says, that yes, it can, and may even become ghastlier. I shake my head at Phigby. “Please don’t tell me that — ”
He holds his hand up, palm out. “Let’s save that discussion for another time, Hooper,” he replies softly.
“For now, we have enough spoiled meat on our plates as it is,” he finishes.
He takes another breath, gives Cara’s hand a gentle squeeze and stands. “Amil, we four have been up all night and between fighting off the Wilders and your news, I’m afraid that we’re exhausted in body and spirit. We need to sleep and let both mind and body refresh themselves.”
“Say no more,” Amil replies. “I rested well enough last night. I’ll stand guard. Get some sleep.”
“The dragons — ” Helmar begins, but Phigby quickly says, “Are safe enough for now, and I doubt highly that they’ll wander off. Now, let’s take Amil up on his gracious proposal.”
For me, Amil doesn’t have to offer twice. I think I’m asleep before my head even hits the ground. At some point, I feel a furry, warm body curl up against my stomach. I reach out a hand and pull Scamper close. I admit, caring for someone, and having someone care for you, makes the world a little easier to take.
Even if that same world has Wilders, witches, and now a whole kingdom out to get you.
A soft hand pushes me awake, and an angel voice sternly says, “Hooper, wake up.”
I open my eyes just long enough for Cara to thrust a cup in my hands. “What is it?” I ask groggily, not entirely awake yet.
“Squirrel soup,” she answers.
“Oh,” I reply. Well, I think, at least, Scamper has that particular tree to himself, now. I see that the fire is a bit brighter than earlier, and someone has gathered more wood. I’m surprised, but grateful that I wasn’t woken to fetch the wood. I take a sip of my broth and then in one gulp down half the cup. It’s bland as there’s more water than squirrel meat flavor, but at least, it’s filling.
I glance around, th
e shanty is empty except for Cara and myself. “Where are the others?” I ask.
“Helmar and Amil are taking a quick swing through the forest,” she answers, stacking some wood next to the small hearth, “hoping to find something more substantial than a squirrel. Phigby’s out searching for nuts or berries.”
She turns and motions at me. “We’re to take the dragons to the brook so that they can drink, so be quick about downing the rest of that.”
My eyebrows rise at her answer. They let the Hooper sleep longer than the others? Unheard of. Two more swallows and I’m done with the thin broth. Cara takes the cup, quickly rinses it out, and without another word to me, slings her bow and quiver and is out the door.
I hobble after her, rubbing at my eyes in the late afternoon sun. I take a quick glance around the glade but don’t spot Scamper. He might have gone with Phigby. While nuts and berries are not high on his list of what he considers good eating, he’ll eat them when nothing else is available.
We trudge up the small incline behind the hut and slip into the thicker stand of trees where Cara and Helmar settled the dragons earlier. Except for Rover, who’s contentedly munching on a beech bush, the rest of the dragons are resting or sleeping. Cara motions to the left, “I’ll gather up Wind Song and Rover, you get Glory and the golden. On our way to the creek, keep an eye out for dragon bane.”
Perfect, I think. This will give me a chance to speak with the golden about Phigby and Helmar, one of which, in my mind, is the Gem Guardian. But which?
I no sooner turn from Cara, then I’m stampeded by a tiny herd of lively baby dragons. The sprogs cluster around me, screeping and chubbing. I have no idea why they’re so excited to see me. Surely, they must know how much I dislike being around their ugly toad bodies.
Trying to look as if I’m studying the ground in search of the poison petals, I slowly amble toward the golden. When I reach her, I take a quick glance at Cara. She’s on the meadow’s far side and disappears behind Wind Song. No doubt, looking her dragon over before getting her up to move to the stream. Now’s my chance.
I slide up next to the golden. “Pssst, Golden Wind, wake up.”
“I am awake,” she answers, though she keeps her eyes closed.
“Phigby or Helmar,” I state, “one of them is the Gem Guardian. Right?”
She slowly opens her eyes and stares at me. “What makes you think that?”
“Phigby at the falls,” I quickly reply, “he drew magical characters and symbols in the air that called to the three fairies, and when they appeared, well, the rest of us were scared, but he stood strong, unafraid.
“Besides, he knows about dragons and dragon gems, in fact, Phigby knows just about everything. If anyone can make the gemstone work, it would be him.”
I stop and then in a rush of words say, “But, then again Helmar is strong, powerful, a warrior. He’d be able to protect the jewel against anyone who would try to take it. Especially when he’s mad.”
I shudder, thinking of Helmar standing there with his blade held high, looking like some majestic god with a thunderbolt in his hand, ready to spear me.
“A warrior,” I go on, “such as Helmar or one who holds a great store of knowledge, like Phigby, armed with a dragon jewel would make a powerful combination to do this ‘good’ that you’re so concerned about.”
My shoulders slump, and I murmur, “I’d hoped that I was the guardian, and it’d change my world, give me the things that I’ve always wanted — ”
“But since it won’t,” Golden Wind says, “you’re now more than willing to give it up.” She brings her head a little closer, and her eyes never leave my face as if she were searching for something.
I shrug. “I’m certainly not doing any good with it, just hauling it around. Besides, if anyone can make it work, it’s Phigby or Helmar. I’m sure of it. I just don’t know which one.”
“I see,” she replies. “Phigby holds a vast store of knowledge and Helmar is imbued with power. And such attributes are the key to wielding the gem wisely and bringing about the most good, is that it?”
“That’s the way I see it,” I answer. “Now all that’s left is for you to tell me which one gets the jewel and I can be done with the whole thing.”
She considers my reply for a long moment before saying, “Hooper, knowledge and power without the wisdom or desire to use both righteously are a dangerous combination. Even the wickedest among us can garner those traits, but they choose to use them for their own selfish desires, having neither true wisdom nor the inclination to seek righteousness.”
“But,” I object, “Phigby’s good, he’s smart, he’d know what to do with the jewel. I certainly don’t. And Helmar is already powerful in a sense, he’s used to using power, though I admit I think he needs to work more on the ‘good’ part.”
I screw my mouth to one side. “All I’m doing is lugging the thing around until I deliver it to the right person. I don’t see me doing much good in that.”
“As I said, Hooper, being the — ”
“I know, I know,” I snap at her. “Being Pengillstorr’s jewel caretaker is a great honor and I should be proud that he chose me.”
Disgruntled, I say, “Being the custodian is one thing, but finding the real guardian is another. Why can’t you just tell me who it is and be done with it?”
She gazes at me for a moment and then asks, “What of Cara? Why haven’t you considered her as the guardian? She’s smart, brave, there’s a sense of power about her as well.”
She pauses and then says, “Is it because she’s a girl?”
I glance down at my feet, hesitate and then say, “No, it’s not because she’s a girl. She’s all that you said and more.”
I fidget a bit and then blurt out, “I don’t want her to be the guardian because, for me, she’s the girl. If she’s the guardian, you’ve already said that more danger would come her way. I don’t want that for her — I want less danger, much less for her than anyone else, including me.”
The golden peers at me for a moment before saying, “I understand. You’re trying to protect her. That’s very chivalrous of you, Hooper, but you must accept the fact that if Cara is the guardian, for the world’s sake, you must hand over the gemstone to her. No matter your personal feelings.”
I bite down hard on my lip before I nod and mumble, “I understand.”
The golden’s gaze is gentle, but her words are firm. “Hooper, when the time comes you shall know for a surety who the guardian is and who should wield Pengillstorr’s jewel, and its power. But that time hasn’t come.”
This conversation isn’t going in the direction that I thought it would. I fully expected the golden to say, “Congratulations, gem caretaker, you’ve chosen well, now deliver the gem, your task is over, the burden lifted.”
Instead, I have the distinct impression that while she hasn’t come out and directly squashed my announcement that Phigby or Helmar is the Gem Guardian, she hasn’t exactly given either one rousing approval.
She breaks into my thoughts by saying, “I thirst, as do the others. Come, Hooper, I believe you are to take us to water.”
I duly point toward a far line of treetops. “Over there,” I mutter, “there’s a small brook.”
Cara has the other dragons filing along in a single line and the golden falls in at the tail end. I glance down at my little milling mob of sprogs. “C’mon,” I grumble, “you too. Let’s go.”
I stump behind Cara and the dragons, and it’s not long before we have them at the water. The four adult dragons spread out. Otherwise, they’d drink the water dry if they stayed in one spot.
The sprogs jump into the stream, splash about, and plunge their heads down into the water, coming up with a bit of bottom grass each time. Naturally, Regal and Wind Glow get into a tussle, fighting over the same piece of soft moss and end up kicking and scratching in the mud. I let them have at it as I’m not inclined to get wet seperating two squalling dragon brats.
The gold
en eyes the sprogs while she gulps down great drafts of the liquid but she lets them be too. She raises her head and water spews out the side of her mouth while she chews on some bottom grass that came with the water. Cara is at the far end, standing next to Wind Song. I can hear her softly humming to her dragon.
After thinking a bit, I slip to the other side of Golden Wind and whisper, “So, is that how I’ll recognize the true Gem Guardian, someone who won’t misuse the jewel’s power?”
She chews the grass slowly as if she’s a cow chewing her cud. She takes so long; I think she’s not going to answer me. Then, she murmurs, “Hooper, a truly wise and good person will choose the right over the wrong, even if it means making a sacrifice of their own heart; in other words, giving up their greatest desires for the good of others.”
She pauses and then whispers, “Take out the jewel.”
I duck my head around the golden to make sure Cara can’t see but she’s out of sight. I quickly bring out the gemstone. “Look inside,” the golden orders.
Peering at the gem, my eyes widen. The tiny frond, closed tightly before has uncurled just a bit, its leaves becoming more distinct. The jewel itself now has a slight green tint to it, ever so slight but noticeable nonetheless.
I point to the plant whose leaves sway just a tiny bit as if there were a gentle breeze inside the gem. “It’s beginning to open, what does that mean?”
“It means that you are closer to finding its guardian,” Golden Wind answers. “The jewel’s power is starting to awaken.”
She dips her head to the water and drinks again. For some reason, I know the conversation has ended, and I tuck the jewel away.
When the dragons are done, Cara motions that she’s filled our water flasks, and we’re to take the dragons back to the sheltered glade.
After Cara and I herd all the dragons back to the meadow, we return to the glen to find Amil and Phigby off to one side having a quiet conversation.
Entering the hut, I glance around, hoping to see deer meat roasting in the hearth or perhaps rabbits, but it’s obvious that Helmar and Amil came back empty-handed, as did Phigby.
