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

by GARY DARBY

  Wings, beaks, tiny claws strike my head and shoulders as if someone had thrown a handful of fist-sized rocks in my face.

  Scamper, of course, springs up and down, doing his best to catch a bird, and if it weren’t for my hasty grab of neck fur, he’d be sailing through the air, without a dragon under him.

  I cower as best as I can behind Golden Wind’s skull plate and fortunately, we’re through the flock in just a few beats of her wings.

  I hear a smacking sound and cautiously raise my head to peek over her skull sheath just in time to see Golden Wind snatch one stray bird out of the air with her mouth.

  “You did that on purpose,” I say accusingly as I pull bits of feathers from my mouth and nose. “You went through that flock just to eat those birds.”

  “No, Hooper, I didn’t,” she replies. “They caught me by surprise. However, I admit, they were tasty. Grass isn’t all that filling, you know. Too bad there weren’t more.”

  “Uh huh,” I answer. “From where I sit, I’d say there was a question of who caught who.”

  I hear a chuckle in her voice. “I guess that’s true.”

  Peering ahead, I ask, “Are we getting close to wherever it is we’re going?”

  “Yes,” she answers, “it won’t be long now.”

  A sudden thought strikes me. “Golden Wind, just how fast can you go?”

  Her answer is slow in coming as if she doesn’t want to admit to what she says next. “So swift that even the sapphires wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

  “Really?” I stammer, astounded that she could outfly the speediest of dragons, but I just have to ask, “And just how fast is that?”

  She’s silent for a few beats of her wings before she murmurs, “If need be, swifter than any dragon or wind, Hooper.”

  My eyes grow wide at her response. My eyes grow even wider the more I think about it. “Is that all?” I stammer. “And here I thought you were really fast.”

  She doesn’t answer but somehow I feel that I made her smile.

  I start to ease back in the saddle when a sudden thought strikes me. “Uh, Golden Wind, if you can go that fast, why don’t you just sky away and find a place to hide?

  “Seems to me that that would be a lot easier than what we’re doing now.”

  She doesn’t answer. We wing on and then she says, “Hooper, if you could run as swift as the swiftest wind, would you run away and hide?”

  I glance down at Scamper, then over my shoulder at Cara, and yes, even Master Boren and the others. Leave them behind? Let them face whatever is to come by themselves? Alone, while I hid just so that I was safe?

  Was I scared of Vay? Absolutely. Did I fear being hurt or dying? Of course.

  But to leave Scamp and Cara and the others behind? I admit, there are times when I feel like a coward, but am I a run-away-and-hide coward?

  Even after Master Boren humiliated me in front of Cara, I came back didn’t I?

  “No,” I whisper. “I guess I wouldn’t do that even if I could.”

  She doesn’t reply, she doesn’t have to, my answer is her answer.

  I settle deeper into her neck saddle and soon, my body is moving to the same rhythm as hers. I feel comfortable, at ease, as if I were meant to be her rider.

  The four moons are rising over the dark horizon, and their light seems to bathe her in a glowing radiance. Her scales glimmer in a golden aura that surrounds her from her muzzle to the tip of her tail.

  I can’t help but think as I sit in the middle of this golden glow that it’s as if she doesn’t belong in this world, but to some other, mystical kingdom and that she’s only here for a moment in time.

  From close behind, I can hear angry voices that carry on the night air. Strident voices, so sharp that they seem to splinter the calm night air.

  “Now what are they arguing about?” I mutter.

  “Where to hide me,” the golden answers. “Prince Aster and Daron have them . . .” she stops and gives a little chortle while answering, “perplexed.”

  “Good,” I mutter, “let them be that way for a change.” I sit up straighter at a sudden thought. “Wait, I thought we were headed into Golian. Why are they arguing then?”

  “We are indeed,” she affirms, “but they question how deep we should go into the domain and for how long.”

  “How long?” I stammer. “I thought we were going to a place where we could stay for quite a while. You know, rest, eat—be safe.”

  The golden is slow to answer, “No Hooper, unfortunately, the domain will only provide us a short respite for now.”

  “Short?” I grumble. “We need something a little more than short, don’t you think?”

  “From here on, Hooper, I’m afraid that will be the most that we can hope for. Evil does not rest nor does it ever turn aside from its foul designs.”

  I definitely do not like the sound of that. The golden’s words are ominous and foreboding and for a moment, I feel a knot of fear in my stomach.

  Gazing at Scamper, I smile. He’s curled up in a snug little ball behind the golden’s skull plate, which serves as an excellent windbreak, and has his eyes closed in sleep.

  Gently, I run a finger over the smooth fur on the top of his head. “Wish I could rest as easy as you. As if I had no worries whatsoever in the world except to find my next meal of worms or grubs.”

  He stirs at my light touch before going back to sleep, as if my gentle stroke on his fur assures him that all is well in his world.

  “Golden Wind,” I ask, “you seem to be like Phigby and know a lot about everything. Do you know why I have a fairy after me, well, after all of us, I mean?”

  Golden Wind’s answer is unexpected. “Hooper, look down, what do you see?”

  I glance over her side and even though it’s dark, I can make out what’s familiar and ordinary. “Uh, lots of trees, brush, grass, maybe some flowers.”

  “That’s right,” she agrees, “and each sliver of grass, each tree sapling, all of them sprouted from a tiny seed. What would happen if that seed didn’t grow?”

  “You wouldn’t have trees and grass, I guess.”

  “Exactly,” she responds as if that explains everything.

  We wing through the night with the sapphires trailing and the golden leading. Out of curiosity, I once touched a velvet cape that Phigby had hanging in his shop.

  The night air is every bit as soft and smooth as that velvet cape. I put out my hands to let my fingers sort of dance and feel the air’s silkiness as we glide along.

  The moons continue their four-orb march upward, casting a pale glow across the forested rolling hills with the occasional break of a meadow. It’s not until they reach their high point in the sky that Golden Wind starts to slow.

  The jagged, snow-capped peaks to our left still seem to stretch from horizon to horizon and not long after, we sweep over a wide, fast-flowing river that in the moonlight is streaked with a turquoise shade of blue.

  “What river is that?” I ask.

  “The Wolven Floden,” the golden answers. “We are in its upper reaches.”

  “The river that Amil mentioned.”

  “Yes, the River of Wolves.”

  I swallow at her response. “Please tell me that its name isn’t of any significance.”

  “Actually, Hooper, it’s aptly named,” the golden returns.

  I don’t ask more questions, for just past the tree-lined watercourse the golden dips her wings. We do a slow arc toward a small, open meadow, which seems to be the only open space in the dense forest as far as the eye can see.

  She reaches for the ground with her rear talons and then comes to rest in the grass-covered glen. Moments later, all four dragons have settled themselves in the little dale.

  I climb down off the golden and join the others though I make sure I stand apart as I don’t want to bring any more of Master Boren’s wrath on me.

  Scamper makes a beeline for the trees, his little nose held high as he sniffs the air.

 
; “Well, Amil?” Phigby asks. “I take it the river we crossed is the Wolven, is it not?”

  “Aye,” Amil answers as he eyes me, “that’s the Wolven, though I’m not so sure that you need me to tell you where we are as Hooper seems to know the way.”

  I want to reply that it’s not me but Golden Wind but of course, I can’t. Instead, I drop my gaze and avoid Amil’s stare.

  After a moment, I lift my head. Amil has turned to survey the moonlit mountains that are steeped in shadow and have a hazy, silvery tint about their edges.

  “A few leagues farther up is the vale I spoke of but this is a good a spot for the night. From now on, I strongly suggest that it would be most prudent if we are extra vigilant.”

  “Because of the giants?” Cara asks.

  Amil mutters, “There are more than just giants with two arms and two legs that prowl this land and that we should guard against.”

  “Such as?” Cara asks.

  Phigby turns to her and explains, “The Wolven Floden means the River of Wolves because of the beasts that prowl this side of the mountains.”

  “You mean there are Dread Wolves here?” she asks.

  “If only they were,” Phigby answers. “No, lass, compared to these wolves, our Dread Wolves are like Lady Lorell’s poodleloos, soft and cuddly. These are Vargs, wolves of the giant variety.”

  I glance at Cara who returns my look. I wonder if my eyes are as wide as hers.

  Phigby clears his throat. “Since we are in sight of the Denalians that means that we are still on the Golian Domain’s border. Amil, what do you suggest?”

  The big man gestures to the meadow’s far side. “I saw a small hollow just inside the forest edge. It will provide some cover, and shield a fire. We can make camp there.”

  Master Boren gestures toward the woodlands, “The dragons have gone too long without a meal of meat. Can we chance hunting in these woods to satisfy their hunger?”

  “I cannot answer for a surety,” Amil replies in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve only traveled this way once, and that was by dugout on the river. I didn’t hunt these woods as I brought enough supplies not to warrant a hunt.”

  He gestures toward the waterway. “There is a village further downstream. Lacenstad it’s called, and it’s rumored that they have had some trade dealings with the Golians.

  “It may be that if we don’t meet up with a Golian, perhaps they may be able to get a message to the queen.”

  “How far to the village?” Phigby asks.

  “On foot, at least two days,” Amil states, “perhaps a bit more. And I wouldn’t suggest skying your dragons there either.”

  “Because of the warrant?” Cara asks.

  Amil gives a little shrug. “That,” he points toward Golden Wind, “and her. The villagers have river boats and if we show up with a golden dragon—”

  “They could slip away,” Phigby mutters, “head downstream and report our whereabouts to the nearest authorities.”

  “Aye,: Amil nods. “However, if one or two of us claim to be gold seekers, they’ll buy that story as such reckless fools do occasionally come through. We could spin a story that we seek approval from the queen to search for gold and we’ll share what we find.”

  “Speaking from experience?” Cara asks.

  Amil gives her a broad smile. “Only the part about the foolhardy treasure hunter.”

  “A round trip of three or four days,” Helmar muses. “A fair trek to obtain both provisions and to see if they can get a message into Golian.”

  He turns to Amil. “Can we trust them if we were to attempt to contact the Golian queen through them?”

  Amil shakes his head. “That I cannot answer. As I said, my stop there was brief. They weren’t a talkative lot, though I was able to buy a few provisions.”

  “And you’re sure they wouldn’t know of the warrant?” Cara pointedly asks.

  Amil shakes his head. “For certain, no. But the village has fewer than a hundred inhabitants so it’s doubtful that a King’s Herald has come this far upriver yet.”

  “Still,” I point out, feeling pangs of hunger in my stomach, “you were able to obtain food.”

  Amil’s smile is brief. “They saw me as Amil, the gold seeker.”

  He gestures toward the mountains. “It’s believed that if one is willing to chance an encounter with a Golisn giant that the mountains hold a hoard of gold.

  “As I said, a few treasure hunters make their way upriver.” His mouth turns down in a frown. “Not so many return downriver.”

  “So Boren,” Phigby asks, “what would you have us do?”

  Master Boren runs a hand through his graying hair. I can see the weariness on his face, and I suspect it’s not all from a night’s skying.

  “Our bellies and the dragons hunger. It will be first light soon, and we need to hunt. After that, we’ll see about walking the river vale. If we are unsuccessful at meeting a Golian there, we’ll discuss going to the village.”

  We make our way over to the bowl-like hollow, settle the dragons in the forest just beyond, and while Cara and Helmar stand guard, the rest of us try to sleep on the scraggly grass that covers the low spot.

  Muted voices and footsteps crunching through the grass waken me. I feel as if I haven’t slept at all, but the brightening around me tells me that dawn is not far off.

  Working the stiffness out of my limbs, I think that even my musty straw bed in the barn was better than this.

  I turn as Helmar says to Amil. “It’s light enough, what say you and I see what this forest offers in the way of food?”

  “Agreed,” Amil replies while he surveys the thick trees with a wary expression. “Besides, I think in this woodland, two sets of eyes will be better than one.”

  “Hooper,” Helmar orders, “lend Amil your knife.” Amil tucks my knife into his waistband, and with Helmar at his side strides away into the woodlands.

  “Cara,” Master Boren orders, “check on the dragons. Make sure that they can’t be seen and keep them away from the river for now. It is much too open.”

  “Yes, Father,” Cara readily answers.

  Phigby holds the water flasks out to me. “I know,” I sigh, “water and wood.”

  Cara turns to me. “After I check on the dragons, I’ll gather the wood, you get the water.”

  “Thanks,” I smile gratefully at her but instead of returning my smile she dryly says, “The faster we can get wood and water, the sooner I get to the hunt.”

  I acknowledge her curt comment with a little nod and make for the river.

  The trees are thick and close together and of a type that I’m not familiar with. Their branches start head high and what passes for leaves are thin and sharp, and end in a needle-sharp tip.

  Even though the sky is cloudless, only a little sunlight reaches the ground, and it’s gloomy in the woodland.

  I don’t know how well Helmar and Amil will fare as I don’t see any life in this dark and dreary woodland. Which, after Amil’s and Phigby’s description of the Vargs might just be a good thing.

  No prey means no wolves.

  It’s not long before I hear the rushing river. I step out from the last line of trees onto a narrow stone-lined riverbank.

  The morning’s first light is a subdued glint off the water as the odd appearing turquoise hue seems to soak up the sunlight instead of the glitter off normal water that I’m used to seeing.

  Kneeling, I scoop up a drink as I’m curious to see if turquoise water tastes the same as the clear coolness of Draconstead’s stream.

  It does. Perhaps a bit colder, though. Movement in the shallows catches my eye.

  Minnows! Darting close to several moss-covered rocks. I smile, knowing that from experience where there are minnows, there are bigger fish. All we need is a way to catch them. I lick my lips in anticipation of eating fresh fish broiled over an open fire.

  As I dip the water flasks into the river, I glance over at the rocks and mud at the riverbank’s edge to
see if there are more minnows darting in and among the moss covered stones.

  And spring upright.

  Tracks!

  Even in the dusky light of sunrise I can make out several sets of prints set deep in the river mud along the waterline. I take several steps and bend over to study the deep-set impressions.

  It only takes a heartbeat for my eyes to widen. I’m staring at enormous paw prints. I’ve seen the tracks that Dread Wolves make, but these I can set my hand, fingers spread apart into and still have space around.

  I glance in the direction the tracks take and almost drop the flasks.

  Footprints!

  Gaping, I set a foot inside one print and see that I could almost set my other foot next to it and barely overlap the track’s edges.

  Both traces are fresh and recently made. I have no doubt of just whose footmarks I peer at, and there’s little guesswork as to what made the paw prints.

  We have a Golian giant and a Varg somewhere close by, and here I stand in the open without even a knife to defend myself against either.

  The cracking of a dead branch on the bark-strewn forest floor spins me around.

  I reach for the only weapon I can think of, a thick, rounded rock that fits snugly in my hand, just made for chucking at the head of a Golian or a Varg.

  As if that would do any good.

  “What?” Cara sputters. “Are you going to put a lump on my head with that rock? I know father was harsh with you, but don’t take it out on me.”

  “Cara,” I let out in relief, “it’s only you.”

  “Yes,” she replies slowly while giving me a puzzled stare. “Were you expecting someone else? I was a little worried since you went off without a bow or knife.”

  I dare to spin her around and point to where the water is lapping against the riverbank’s fist-sized rocks. “Look.”

  Cara sucks in a breath as her gaze finds the footprints. “And over here, too,” I say as I prod her a little farther upstream.

  Her eyes flick from one set of prints to the other before she whips out an arrow from her quiver and notches it in her bowstring.

  While she scans the nearby trees, she says, “We need to get out of here,” she orders.

  She’s talking to a hole in the air because I’m already gone.