by GARY DARBY
The lightning comes again, illuminating the two individuals and Cara calls out, “Helmar!”
I let out a breath of relief when I realize it is indeed Amil and Helmar. They quickly push their way past the dragons and face us. Helmar’s face is as dark as the raging storm. Amil holds his ax in one hand while he keeps glancing over his shoulder at the wind-whipped woodlands.
In a tone that is as deep and angry as the rolling, rumbling thunder, Helmar says above the rushing wind, “We’ve been discovered, we must leave, now.”
“What!” Phigby exclaims, “Who — ”
Helmar’s savage chop at the air with one hand stops Phigby from going on. “Villagers, fifty or more, making for this meadow and somehow they know who we are.”
He points to the dragons. “We leave now, or we are all dead.”
Chapter 25
Lightning slashes across the sky, jagged bolts that light up the sky as if the clouds were sending down roots of fire into the ground. Between the howling wind and the rolling thunder, practically all other sounds are drummed out, and we have to shout to make ourselves heard. “We can’t sky in this!” Cara declares to Helmar. “The sky bolts will knock us out of the air.”
Helmar hesitates only for an instant before ordering, “Then we’ll have to make a run for it, there’s too many for us to make a stand here!”
“Get on your dragons,” he orders. With his bag slung over his shoulder, Phigby dashes to Wind Rover with Amil right behind him. Cara makes short work getting up on Wind Song. Before I can make it to Golden Wind, from the meadow’s far side, I hear wild yelling and screaming.
A horde of barrel-chested men waving long-handled axes, lances and bows appear at the far tree line. Their faces are hard, their intent clear. We can either become their live or dead captives. I can see in their wild eyes that it doesn’t matter which.
Cara swivels on Wind Song and unleashes an arrow. The shriek of a dying man answers her shot.
Phigby spins Wind Rover to face the frenzied mob, and a moment later, the glen is lighted up, not by the brilliant flash of lightning, but a harsh stream of dragon fire. The crazed villagers scatter into the woods in all directions. A moment later, Helmar is up on Wind Glory and yells at me, “Hooper, move!”
Actually, I am moving, just not as fast as the others. I whistle for Scamper, and he dashes from under the pine tree and up the golden’s leg like a squirrel racing up an oaken tree with a prized acorn. Just as I reach the golden, Cara screams, “Hooper! The sprogs!”
In our hectic rush to escape the frenzied villagers, we’d forgotten the little dragons.
I spin around and helped by the white light of a lightning flash, spot them cowering under the overhanging branches. I’m the closest, so I hobble back as fast as I can. Somehow, I manage to scoop up an armload of screeping, chubbing sprogs in one armload, and whirl around to hurry back to Golden Wind.
The golden is waiting for me with head lowered. I plow against the wind, reach the golden and practically throw the sprogs up on her carapace. In between lightning strokes, I hear the twang of Helmar’s and Cara’s longbow, but for the moment, the villagers aren’t shooting back.
I scramble up on the golden’s neck, and I’m no sooner settled than she spins and lumbers for the meadow’s center. “No — ” I begin, thinking that we need to be running in the opposite direction, but then my next words freeze in my throat.
In the lightning’s sharp glare, I can see we’re surrounded on all sides. Angry, fierce villagers step out from the tree line, with weapons raised high. A dozen or more of their archers have their arrows pointed straight at us.
The golden pulls up beside Wind Song. Cara has an arrow notched, and her bow hand quivers next to her cheek. She gives me a quick sideways glance and murmurs, “Thank you, Hooper, for rescuing the little ones.”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper, “not that it’s going to make much difference from what I see.”
A tall, muscular looking man, his dark tunic tight across his chest and waist steps out from the line of villagers. His voice is loud, commanding. “Your dragon fire may kill a few of us, but once we unleash our arrows — you’re all dead.”
I see Helmar exchange quick glances with Phigby and Amil, and I know just what they’re thinking. The man is right. By the time we unleashed fire, their arrows would be well on their way to their mark. Some of them would die, but all of us certainly would.
“What do you want?” Helmar demands.
“A fair trade,” the tall man answers. “We want you, the girl, and the golden dragon.” He pauses as the man next to him whispers before turning back. “Oh, and the puny, scarred one as well. The others can go free; we have no use for them.”
Lightning crackles through the clouds, so many bolts it’s as if two of the gods are tossing lightning spears back and forth just for fun.
We all look to Helmar with anxious faces. It’s never been said, but it’s clear that he’s the leader of our company, and now our fate rests in his hands. He hesitates for a moment before he calls out, “Give us a moment, we need to talk among ourselves.”
He then points Wind Glory’s head straight at the tall fellow. “And by the way, if you do unleash your arrows, you’ll be the first to fry to death.”
The villager hesitates, his eyes on Wind Glory. Helmar’s voice was firm, convincing. I have no doubt he means what he says. The man starts to answer when his whispering companion says something in his ear.
The tall man listens, nods, and then responds, “I have a man here who can count to fifty. When he tells me it’s time, if you haven’t surrendered by then, I shall take that as your answer.”
He leans forward and points to Helmar. “And you shall be the first to die.”
Helmar doesn’t reply but leans over and mutters, “Quick — any ideas?” He looks especially at Phigby, who’s fumbling in his bag, but doesn’t answer. Amil shakes his head and Helmar swings back to Cara and me.
Cara grimaces, the fury on her face evident but she has no reply, either. I start to say no, when off in the distance, I hear a familiar sound.
My eyes flick to our adversaries for an instant, then back to Helmar. My whisper is almost a growl, “When I say, ‘now’ we sky.”
Helmar emphatically shakes his head. “In this storm? We have more chance against their arrows.”
The sound is noticeably closer. “Helmar, think about it,” I stress. “Once they have us three and the golden, they’ll kill Amil and Phigby. Dead men tell no tales. We need to sky out of here, just not right now.”
I can see the doubt etched in Helmar’s eyes and I know what he’s thinking. If he can’t reason our way out of this trap and if Phigby doesn’t have any ideas, how can a Hooper?
“I’m with Hooper,” Cara abruptly says and gazes at me. “I’d rather die skying on Wind Song than perish from a villager’s arrow. Just give the word, Hooper.”
“We need a little more time,” I urge Helmar, “stall him. Neither the golden nor your jewel must fall into their hands.”
Helmar licks his lips before he whirls in his saddle. “My comrades and I want to make an agreement,” he yells.
The villager’s laugh is as loud and sharp as the lightning overhead. “Can you offer us twice your weight in gold? If you can, then we’ll listen. Otherwise, my man says your time is up.”
Helmar doesn’t have an answer but sits there mute. Longbows creak as they’re pulled tighter, the arrow points leveled right at us. “Wait!” I shout. “We have something worth more than our weight in gold, at least double, maybe even triple our weight.”
I can hear Cara gurgle over the wind, “Hooper, what are you doing?”
“Buying us just a few more moments,” I gurgle back.
“I don’t believe you,” the man replies. “You’re stalling.”
“Helmar,” I frantically whisper, “take out the gemstone, now.”
He hesitates, his eyes glowering at me. He starts to shake his head no, but I p
lead, “Please.”
He glances at the bowmen, and he sees what I see, their bows are as taut as they can reach and only a heartbeat away from flying through the air.
With lips pressed tight, he reaches into his tunic and slides the emerald out. He holds it high, and the emerald’s gentle radiance has every villager in awe. “Say the words, Helmar,” I mutter, “make the gem glow as bright as the sun.”
Just at that moment, a lightning bolt crashes into the center of the glade. I can feel the golden buckle, but she remains upright while I feel as if I’ve a thousand buzzing bees inside my head. I can barely hold onto Golden Wind, and my whole body feels as if I’m wrapped so tight in a cocoon that I can’t move.
I lean over and whisper, “Golden Wind, are you all right?”
She’s slow to answer, “I’ve been better, but it will pass soon.”
I manage to raise my head and take stock of my companions. Like me, they’re stunned and just barely managing to stay atop their dragons. Helmar seems the worst. He’s draped over Glory’s neck, though I can see he’s trying to right himself though his arms and legs jerk as if he can’t control them.
I can see in his hand that he’s still gripping the gemstone tightly.
I glance around at our adversaries. A good many of them have been knocked off their feet, but most are rousing themselves enough that I know we have but a few moments before they come charging at us, and we’re in no shape to fight back.
Through lips that I can barely feel I say to the golden, “Get me next to Helmar.”
She stumbles over to Wind Glory. I reach over and pull Helmar upright. “Helmar, use the gem!”
He sways back and forth, mumbling. “Helmar, snap out of it, say the power words, now!”
He raises the gemstone and sort of stares with his eyes rapidly blinking as though he knows he’s holding the jewel but doesn’t know what to do with it. He starts to waver again, almost falling off Wind Glory if I hadn’t caught him in time.
“Helmar,” I plead, “listen to me. Say the words after me.”
He turns, shuts his eyes for an instant before he reopens them and nods. Slowly, one by one, I repeat the power words with Helmar mumbling each word after me. Finally, I declare, “Now all the words together! Vald Hatta Sasi Ein, Power to this One!”
He manages to mumble right after me, Vald Hatta Sasi Ein! Power to this One! though I can barely hear him.
An emerald burst of light shoots from the jewel. It sweeps across the glen, illuminating everything in a green glow. Some of the villagers throw up their hands in fright at the emerald brilliance.
The trees, once rocking back and forth, swaying from the rushing wind, straighten, and start to bend toward the dale’s center, against the wind, as if to reach the gemstone that shines emerald bright against the darkening gloom.
I swivel on the golden’s neck as what I’d been waiting for is now upon us. I glance around; all of us, including Helmar, now seem to have our wits about us again so I shout, “Now! Everyone, sky!”
Without hesitating, the golden springs into the air, unfurling her wings on the way up. Just as she does, we’re hit with a roaring gale of wind and rain. The storm has finally unleashed its full fury, and it’s like someone suddenly blew out the lone candle in a dark room.
The golden and I are thrust into murk and gloom, buffeted by icy winds and raindrops that feel like we’re being pelted by fist-sized stones.
That’s what I’d heard in the distance, what I’d waited for to hide our escape, the pounding rain, the rush of the oncoming gale, the darkness that would hide us from the villagers’ demented eyes.
Raindrops pound at my face, and I’m all but blinded. However, I know that if I can’t see, neither can the archers on the ground. Ferocious gusts stagger the golden in the air, I reach down and push Scamper and the sprogs tightly together under the protection of the golden’s carapace.
The golden doesn’t fight the roaring wind. Instead, she flies with it, but we’re so close to the trees that she actually shreds a few treetops. Then, as if a storm titan had belted her with his mighty fists, we’re violently jolted up and then down.
It’s too much for me, and I sail off. At the last moment, I grab onto her neck scales and hold on with all the strength I have.
My legs and feet strike at branches and leaves as the golden is tossed to one side by a powerful blast of wind. One of the golden’s wings goes up, the other down and she’s practically on her side.
Suddenly, there’s mud and grass just below me, and before we can be tossed back up into the air, I lose my grip.
I’m slipping and sliding through slick grass, eating mud while I try to halt my spinning, rolling ride. I finally stop, staring up into the angry sky, spitting out grass stems and a mouthful of muck.
I roll over to cough up the rest of the glop and to catch my breath. I raise my head and open my mouth. The hammering rain doesn’t take but a moment to fill up my mouth and I spit out the mixture of soupy mud and grass.
I do that twice more before I push myself to my feet. The wind is dying down a bit as is the lightning, but it’s as if the skies had opened up and a whole ocean of water is streaming down from the heavens. I have no idea where I’m at or where the others are.
For that matter, I have no idea if they even escaped out of the meadow.
I think they did.
Or rather, I hope they did.
I stagger around for quite a while, trying to get my bearings, but it’s no use. I’m lost and in the darkness, I can’t see a thing to help guide me.
Not that I know where I’d go anyway, but it’s comforting to have something firm to aim toward. But between the rain and the wisps of rolling clouds with the ocassional lighning bolt, there’s little to see or use as a marker of sorts.
I’m not sure how long I stumble around in the rain and wind before I find myself in a small meadow and stop to catch my breath. The rain has lessened, a mere downpour compared to the overwhelming torrent of before and the wind is a series of sharp gusts that’s practically nothing compared to the punishing gale that whipped us through the sky.
I take a few steps forward and stop. A single stroke of lightning crackles through the air and in the flash of light I see a ring of hard, angry faces.
Somehow, some of the villagers have found me, and now they’re closing their circle of death. They raise their axes across their chests, slowly hefting them up and down. Their eyes are like stone, menacing. They step closer, and I have no doubt that any one of them can slay me with one vicious blow.
From the pack steps the villagers’ leader, the same man who threatened us with death by arrow if we didn’t surrender. He holds an arm out to stop the advancing bloodthirsty mob.
With a hard glare, he holds up his ax and demands over a gust of wind, “Where is the golden one? Tell me and you live. Keep your lips sealed and I promise you that you’ll die slowly, painfully . . . ”
His voice trails off, but his meaning is clear. If I offer up Golden Wind, I live for another day. Otherwise, they will slowly hack me to death, ignoring my screams as they slowly slice me into pieces — tiny pieces.
I, of course, have no idea where the golden is, but I quickly think up an answer and open my mouth to speak. Abruptly there is a change in the wind, and to my ears comes a sound that forevermore I will recognize.
I snap my head up, and my eyes widen for just an instant before I throw one arm up into the air.
Talons dip down and wrap themselves around my arm, and with a hard jerk, I’m pulled skyward. I glance back and through the rain, I see the pack leader dash forward and with a roar of rage and frustration, heave his ax at me, but it falls far short of its target.
I’m swinging below the golden, with the wind and the rain blasting at my body. She doesn’t fight the wind. Instead, she sails along with the rush. Still, the rainfall is so heavy that I feel like I’m soaring through a roaring waterfall. I can barely breathe as my nose and mouth are constantly fi
lled with water.
I know we have to get as far away from the crazed villagers as we can and so I let Golden Wind slide along with the wind but there comes a point where I finally gurgle, “Put me down, I’m drowning!”
The golden keeps going for just a bit before she swoops down. Somehow, in the thickness of rain and cloud, she finds an open spot in the trees where she hovers for a moment before letting me drop the short distance to the ground.
I hit with a muffled, “oomph,” and lie gasping for air.
The golden lands next to me and spreads one wing wide to shield me from the rainfall. A soaked and bedraggled Scamper splashes through the mud and tiny water pools to jump on my chest.
He pushes his little face into mine. Hrrrrrttt? he asks.
I take some deep breaths and answer, “No, I’m all right, but believe it or not, I almost drowned up there.” I half-laugh. “Drowning in midair. I bet no one’s ever died that way before.”
I feel a warm breath and glance up to find the golden’s muzzle close. “Thank you,” I mutter. “I don’t know how you found me, but I’m glad you did.”
I push Scamper to one side and sit up. “Any idea where the others are?” I ask.
Her eyes take on a worried appearance, and she murmurs, “I believe they were captured.”
I roll to my feet. “Captured! They didn’t sky out of there when the storm hit?”
She solemnly shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Captured,” I mutter, disbelieving. “How?”
“Just as I spread my wings,” she answers, “I heard what sounded like a whirring in the air.”
“A whirring? From what?”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is neither Wind Glory, Rover, nor Song took to their air. I never heard their wings.”
A whirring, I think to myself. Then, a thought comes to me, something I’d seen in one of Phigby’s books. “Golden Wind, Amil said that the village lay next to a river. Could it be that what you heard were thick fishing nets flying through the air?
