The Queen's Vow (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 2)

by GARY DARBY

  THE QUEEN’S VOW

  BY

  GARY J. DARBY

  BOOK TWO

  THE LEGEND OF HOOPER’S DRAGONS

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 1

  A new day is dawning, but there’s little warmth from the sun’s rays in our small camp. We are the hunted—the pursued. The outcast, the condemned just waiting for Death to write the last sentence in our book of life. And all for one dragon.

  Is a dragon worth dying for, or for that matter, is there any one thing ever worth the ultimate price?

  Yes.

  My answer surprises me as it wasn’t so long ago that I would have shouted, “No!” at the top of my voice. Especially if it concerned dragons.

  But now I’m slowly beginning to understand that there are some things in life worth dying for; family, friends—freedom, the right to choose our own path.

  Phigby said that my voyage to find the answers to my life’s questions had just begun. If that’s the case, it would appear that I will have a short journey, and death may be the only answer that I find at the end.

  I ask Golden Wind why go to a land of bloodthirsty giants? It doesn’t make sense. To me, it’s like jumping out of the way of a herd of stampeding yearling dragons only to get stomped by Wind Boomer and his giant talons.

  She gives me “the look” and says, “Hooper, is it the destination that makes the journey worthwhile or is it the journey that makes the destination worthwhile?

  “Or is it both?”

  Of course, I have no idea what she’s talking about, and I really have no idea why we’re going to the Golian Domain, except that if we’re to believe Phigby’s dragon gemstone book, that’s our direction.

  What I do know is that it seems as if the whole kingdom is pursuing us and since our defeat of Vay at the Battle of Dunadain Keep with the help of Pengillstorr’s gemstone, everyone knows that I carry a mystical dragon jewel that holds magical powers.

  “It’s as if the news,” Phigby had said, “were carried on a lightning bolt, flashing from one town in the kingdom to the next.” Soon, other dominions will know, too.

  The price on our heads has no doubt tripled. Who knows, maybe instead of being only worth my weight in silver, I too, like Cara and Helmar, will become worth my weight in gold.

  Though I freely admit, there are some honors I could do without.

  Our escape from the evil fairy Vay and her minion, Prince Aster, at Dunadain has led us here, to the foothills leading to the mighty Denalian Mountains, the Golian Domain borders, the land of fearsome giants.

  None of us has slept well during the night, especially me. Though my eyes were closed, my mind was swirling as if my thoughts were a cloud of black midges that swarmed in my head, flitting, whirling, but never settling in one place for very long.

  To my utter astonishment, and I admit, my utter reluctance, it seems that I now carry the mantle of the Gem Guardian, a burden I neither asked for nor really want.

  And with it comes the awful thought that I am now the target of Vay’s maliciousness.

  But worse still, Cara, the girl of my dreams, hates me for I have taken the honor of being the Gem Guardian away from Helmar, her suitor.

  Helmar, it seems, is not convinced that I am worthy to carry the Voxtyrmen, the emerald gemstone from the mighty green dragon Pengillstorr, who bestowed it upon me just before he died.

  He doesn’t say it aloud, but I have little doubt in my mind that secretly that Helmar believes that the jewel was meant for him. The question is how deep is his resentment?

  Back in Draconstead before we fled from the Wilders, Helmar admitted that he was ambitious and wanted nothing less than to be the worthy successor to Dragon Master Boren Dracon. And be the greatest Dragon Master of all.

  What better way than to have the power of Voxtyrmen to aid you in your quest?

  Though he has sworn that he will protect Golden Wind, I cannot help but notice that his oath doesn’t extend to me, and I have the feeling that in his heart, he deems that I’ve cheated him out of what is rightfully his.

  And then there’s Master Boren, Cara’s father and the former Dragon Master of House Lorell; the greatest Dragon Master in all the land some say.

  House Lorell is no more, destroyed by the barbaric Wilder horde and with it Draconstead’s mighty dragon herd that was the envy of many Great Houses.

  Now the greatest Dragon Master rules a herd of a mere four dragons even though one is a golden dragon.

  Master Boren hasn’t said it, but I can still feel his simmering anger at me for riding Golden Wind; she who is both the harbinger of evil times but also the key to bringing forth a wondrous dragon that will save our world from the maelstrom that has only just begun.

  I just know that in Master Boren’s mind, he questions how it can be that Hooper, the lowest of the low, who called a musty straw bed in a drafty dragon barn home, and whose main daily task was to rid the dragon stalls and paddocks of manure can be Golden Wind’s chosen rider?

  And now that we know that King Leo and his two sons, Tavin and Aster, not to mention Master Boren’s own son, Daron, are corrupt and in league with Vay, to Boren there is only one who is worthy to ride the golden: himself.

  Or perhaps Helmar, who is his novice and chosen successor.

  To me, Master Boren is like a pot of simmering water; stoke the fire so that it is red-hot and the water will churn higher and higher until it boils up and over, scalding anyone who is close to the fire.

  It is just a matter of time before he boils over and I will be the one who gets scalded.

  Even though we are comrades in battle, our little company seems divided, and the only thing holding us together is our mutual desire to protect Golden Wind.

  The question is, will that be enough?

  At dawn, Phigby and Master Boren gather us round in our makeshift camp at the woodlands’ edge. The mood is somber given our sober situation.

  A cold wind flows down from the mountain peaks, and we stand close to the little fire, to glean what warmth we can from the flickering flames.

  Phigby clears his throat and begins, his voice husky and low. “We cannot go back to the Northern Kingdom, back to that which we know. Just as Draconstead, our former home for most of us, is lost, so are our past lives.

  “That which we were yesterday is no more, and as surely as the sun will rise this morning, who we are today will not be who we are tomorrow. Change is now our constant companion.

  “We are to seek refuge from our deadly adversaries in the unlikeliest of places—the Golian Domain, a land of warrior giants who forbid anyone to enter their territory on pain of death, particularly those who ride dragons.

  �
�But according to our guide, the gemstone book, to their domain apparently we must go and take our chances with a fearsome race that gives no quarter to trespassers; or face Vay and her evil magic, with just the six of us.”

  He pauses as if to let us consider his words before saying, “We are at war. This is no longer about King Leo and the Great Houses seeking to steal Golden Wind—this is about the fate of our world.

  “Vay and her filthy ilk have one goal, to turn us all into slaves. But as we are free still, it is in my mind that all of us must make our own decision as to where our hearts lie and what path our feet would tread."

  He turns and gestures toward the towering granite massif that is the Denalian Mountains. “We rest on the domain’s border,” he says, “and once past this point, we walk upon Golian land.”

  He pauses, strokes his long, gray, curly beard and murmurs, “We have been led here for a reason, and apparently that purpose is to safeguard Golden Wind from Vay and the Wilders, for she holds the key to their defeat.

  “It is no secret that few that enter the domain ever return alive. Still, as each of us is a free agent and as we have no captain that we’ve sworn fidelity to, the decision to go forward must then be made solely by each of us.”

  He straightens and motions toward me. “Hooper, what say ye?”

  I can feel the weight of the emerald tear jewel in my tunic. I’m at a total loss as to why I’ve been chosen as its guardian, I only know that its burden is mine to carry.

  Admittedly, I’m fearful, uncertain that I will be strong enough to wield its powers.

  Yes, and horribly frightened by the fact that I’m now the center of Vay’s wrath and her malice. She will use all her magical powers, her minions that she’s ensnared to capture the golden and kill me as well as every person in our tiny company.

  I glance at Golden Wind, who returns my gaze with an impassive expression. I know what she’s thinking. As Phigby said, each of us must make this choice on our own.

  She will not attempt to influence me in my decision, though I know what she expects of me—to stand tall and upright as the Gem Guardian and to honor my great gift.

  Except, when you’re just a Hooper, with a small, scarred body, and all you’ve done your entire life is shovel dragon dung and be someone’s whipping boy, to not only face giants but Vay and her evil horde is more than intimidating—it’s terrifying.

  Still, as I once heard Phigby mutter, “Where much is given, much is expected,” I can’t help but recall all the times Golden Wind’s saved my life. Can I do any less for her?

  Scamper paws at my legs and I peer down. He scrunches up his little button nose and his coal-black eyes are very serious as he starts chittering.

  I nod before whispering, “You’re right, Scamper, we owe it to her, don’t we?”

  Raising my head, I meet Phigby’s eyes. “I will go to the mountains and beyond.”

  Phigby gives me a nod and turns to Amil. The big man stands and squares his shoulders with strong hands resting on the hilt of his sharp, double-bladed ax.

  His voice is soft. “I have been a King’s Man most of my life, and when I saw you named on the King’s Warrant for stealing the golden, I admit, I had grave misgivings as to your innocence.

  “But I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because of my friendship with Phigby. However, after what I witnessed at Dunadain Keep, the injustice that’s been brought upon your heads and who and what is behind the evil affairs that have come upon the kingdom . . .”

  His voice becomes stronger. “If you will have me, I would offer my ax and my loyalty to this company. I too would go to the mountains with you and beyond, if necessary.”

  Phigby nods to Helmar, indicating that it is his turn to speak. Helmar is slow to rise, rubs at his chin’s short beard before he brings his head up and faces the group.

  “A company without a captain is like a dragon without a tail. It may be able to lift off the ground for a moment, but it cannot set its course, cannot reach its goal.

  “I too would go to the mountains to protect the golden if that is what is necessary.”

  His face and voice become hard. “But not as a leaderless rabble. We need a leader, one who would bring order to chaos, one who would set a proper and correct course.”

  I can see from Phigby’s surprised expression that Helmar’s words have caught him off guard, and the conversation has taken an unexpected direction.

  But before he can answer Helmar, Cara, who has stood staring at the fire, with her eyes down and her arms crossed, says in a small voice, “I would go anywhere, and do anything to protect Golden Wind.”

  She gives Helmar a sad, disappointed look. “I only wish . . .” she whispers before her voice trails off. I know what she yearns for and why she looks so dissatisfied.

  I hold the gemstone and not Helmar.

  Cara shakes her head and says forcefully, “I will go to the mountains, but only if my father leads us.” She gives me a piercing stare. “He is the only one suited for the task.”

  I can’t help wondering, what is she really saying? Is Boren the only one fit to be our captain, or is she saying that Helmar is the only one capable of carrying the gemstone?

  A night’s rest has not rid Cara of her bitterness that her suitor, Helmar, once named as the Gem Guardian, is not the guardian of Voxtyrmen after all, and I am.

  In many ways, for my sake, and especially for Cara’s sake, I too wish that Helmar was the guardian. But he’s not and there’s nothing I can do to change that or Cara’s bitter resentment towards me.

  “I agree with Cara,” Helmar says as he meets Phigby’s stare.

  His arms are folded, his eyes hard, his jaw set firm. He will brook no argument in the matter, he is determined to have Master Boren lead the company. “If we are to have any success in this venture, then we must follow Master Boren.”

  Phigby slowly pulls at his beard; he doesn’t seem to know what to say to this sudden turn in the conversation. “Amil,” he asks, “what do you say on the matter?”

  Like Phigby, I too am a bit surprised Helmar and Cara’s words, but in thinking back, perhaps I shouldn’t be.

  Earlier this morning, I roused from my troubled sleep to find Master Boren, Cara, and Helmar hunched around our slight fire, murmuring among themselves. At the time, I didn’t think twice about their conversing among themselves.

  Now I know what they were discussing—the election of Master Boren as our leader.

  I smile thinly to myself. If they had included me, I would gladly have voted for Master Boren or Phigby, for that matter. They are natural leaders, whereas I can barely lead myself.

  Amil lets out a slow, heavy breath as if he is considering Phigby’s question. I can see his eyes flick between Phigby and Master Boren.

  He turns a questioning eye to Phigby and I see Phigby shake his head ever so slightly. I can’t help but feel that some unspoken message just passed between them.

  Amil turns to Boren. “I do not know you, Master Boren Dracon. I know of you and that your achievements as a Dragon Master are known far and wide. If the rest of this company would follow you, then so would I.”

  He leans on his ax and his voice is firm, blunt. “Just remember, though, I am not one of your dragons.”

  “Hooper?” Phigby asks.

  I glance at Cara and she meets my gaze with hard, stony eyes as if she would dare me to oppose her father.

  Mumbling, I say, “I have been under Master Boren for many seasons, why should it be any different now?”

  Phigby brings his fingers up to his lips and pinches his mouth together as he peers at me. He then motions toward Boren. “What say ye, Boren?”

  I can see a bit of satisfaction in Master Boren’s eyes as he rises to forcefully say, “I will go with this company into the domain.”

  His chest swells as he takes in a deep breath. “And I will lead this company as well.”

  Phigby gives a little shrug at his response. “Then it appear
s that we have elected a captain of our tiny band.”

  He steps back into the circle, a tacit acknowledgment that Boren now commands our little group.

  Boren steps forward and says, “Now that that’s settled, we all know our situation. From my conversations with Helmar and my daughter, it is quite evident that not only are Vay and the Wilder Horde after the golden, and us too, but evidently King Leo and the kingdom’s Great Houses are as well.”

  He sweeps his hand around our circle. “And what do we have to hold them off with? An army of Dragon Knights riding fiery red dragons, armed with shield, lance, and bow soaring on the wind and coming to our rescue?

  “No.” Master Boren gives a little shrug. “Instead, what we have is a company of six Drachs armed with three longbows, some dozen or more arrows, swords, a double-bladed ax, several knives, and four dragons.”

  Amil mutters, “Don’t forget the four sprogs and Scamper.”

  Boren skews his mouth to one side. “Of course, how could I forget such mighty beasts that add to our company.”

  “Not to mention,” Amil says with a wry smile, “Phigby’s bag, which you have to admit has provided some entertaining and timely moments.”

  He chuckles to himself, muttering, “What we need is for the bag to swallow Golden Wind. I mean, who would look for a dragon inside an old cloth bag?”

  Phigby runs a hand over the coarse outside of his ever present bag, with its faded drawings of rounded moons and pointy stars, and grunts.

  “If it were capable of such a thing, yes, that would solve a great many problems. However, I’m afraid that, for now, we’re on our own to hide and protect Golden Wind.”

  Amil runs a hand over his bald head and muses, “Then, just how exactly are we to hide or disguise a giant lump of glittering, shimmering gold that’s twice the size of a large cottage, has two giant wings, one long tail, and makes a Percheron draft horse look like a stable pony?”

  Phigby turns and points at the mountains that seem to tower higher than even the clouds. “By getting her across those and into to the heart of the Golian Domain.”

  Master Boren eyes Phigby, strokes his own beard and in a knowing voice questions, “You’re thinking of invoking the Queen’s Vow, are you not?”