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

by GARY DARBY

  After a bit, I hear footsteps. It’s Phigby. He stands beside me and clears his throat.

  “I am sorry, Hooper. I’m not as young as I once was and I forget easily, but you’re right, this was something that I shouldn’t ever forget.

  “Come. Sit with us, I promise no more talk of dragons from me tonight.”

  I start to nod when out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement in the deepening dusk. “Phigby, someone’s coming!”

  He whirls and we both peer into the shadows. A moment later, I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s Helmar and Amil.”

  “They seem to be carrying something between them,” Phigby observes.

  My stomach growls at the sight of their load. “It’s a stag, Phigby, and a big one. We’re not going hungry tonight.”

  I scurry over to greet them, but they hasten past without a word.

  With me trailing the two hunters, they hurry down into the hollow and drop the large, reddish brown deer. Its antlers clatter as its head hits the ground.

  Cara takes a step to stand next to Helmar, her hand lightly touching his forearm and her eyes and face filled with relief.

  With long strides, Master Boren trods down the incline to join the group. With a deep frown on his face, Helmar mutters to Boren and Phigby, “We’re not alone.”

  “More giant footprints?” I ask from behind.

  Amil and Helmar turn to me with puzzled expressions. “Hooper and Cara,” Phigby explains, “found a set of Golian prints and Varg tracks down by the river. There was no way to warn you.”

  Helmar points to his foot. “At least two times the length of mine?”

  “At least,” I answer.

  “Could you tell how many Golians there were?” Master Boren asks in a tense voice.

  “From the number of prints, I’m fairly sure there’s only one,” Amil responds. “Which could either be bad or good.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because,” Amil explains, “more than likely she’s a scout. As I said before, the Amazos sometimes have lone warriors patrolling their farthermost boundaries.

  “But, on the other hand, if she’s here ahead of a larger party, then that could well present us with serious problems.”

  “If we are to plead our case,” Phigby intones, “let us hope it is just the one. I would much rather have to face one Golian warrior than many.”

  The others exchange nervous glances in agreement before Phigby rumbles, “But since we do not know what we face, and excessive worrying will not fill our bellies, I suggest we get busy on this deer.”

  He turns to Master Boren. “Do you suppose that we can chance a fire? I’m not overly fond of eating my venison raw.”

  Master Boren seems to consider Phigby’s question before he nods his approval. “A hot meal will do all of us good.”

  Helmar and Amil grab the big deer and begin to skin the animal. As they do, I lean close to Amil and ask between his swift knife strokes, “Scamper is missing. Did you see him out there?”

  The big man wipes sweat from his brow. “No, we saw only the deer and the Golian’s tracks.”

  I shake my head at his answer. “I’m worried; this is not like him. I’m going to look.”

  Amil’s hand shoots out like a striking hawk and grasps my wrist. “Hold, boy. I know he’s your friend, but you don’t want to go wandering out there in the dark. Not here, especially.”

  “Amil’s right,” Helmar growls. “Besides, knowing Scamper, once he smells roasted deer, he’ll live up to his name and come over that rise in no time.”

  It’s not long before the skinned deer is broiling over a makeshift spit. The meat sizzles and begins to darken from the fire’s heat.

  The dragons have gathered on the hollow’s rim, heads hanging over the lip, hungry eyes and flared nostrils turned toward the smell of cooking meat.

  The sprogs are almost dancing around the fire pit, mouths open, muzzles turned up at the wafting scent of hot meat.

  Like the dragons, I’m anxiously hungry, but I’m more apprehensive about Scamper. With the light all but gone, I tread once more to the hollow’s top.

  I’m past worried, now.

  It’s true that Scamper strays at times, but he never stays away this long. He prefers my warmth and the food I bring him. I’m not sure how well he can take care of himself on his own in a strange new place.

  On top of that, Scamper has a tendency to stick his nose in places he shouldn’t. It would be just like him to get into trouble.

  I cup my mouth to call out for him, but just as I do, a rough hand grabs my shoulder and swings me around.

  “Young fool,” Phigby spits out in a gruff tone. “Would you bring danger down upon all of us for the sake of one overly curious beastie?”

  Phigby’s first words cut, but his last bring anger. “He’s not just a beast! He’s my friend. Wouldn’t you care if your friend went missing in a strange place?”

  “Of course,” Phigby retorts. “But I would also worry about my friends who don’t deserve to be put in danger for foolishness’s sake.”

  “What would you have me do? Just leave him out there, alone, maybe hurt?”

  Phigby lets out a breath. “I would have you eat, and then if he hasn’t returned, I’ll join the search with you.”

  I don’t answer, just stare into the dark.

  Phigby reaches out and grasps my arm. “Come,” he orders. “I’m worried about your furry friend, too, but let’s get some much-needed food in you first.”

  Phigbys leads me back to camp though his words don’t soothe my anxious and sullen mood. With skillful slashes of the knife, Amil cuts ample roasts from the deer and throws one to each dragon.

  He slices four much smaller pieces and tosses one to each sprog. The two sapphire sprogs promptly get into a tug of war over the same portion while the purple runs off with two slices.

  “Just like royalty,” I mutter. I glance up at the others. “Or at least like a certain prince who’s not satisfied with all that he has, just wants more of everything.”

  I see a hurt expression on Cara’s face, and I immediately realize my blunder. I could have easily substituted Daron for Prince Aster in my terse words.

  Amil cuts two long strips off the back straps, lays them over a log, and slices off liberal pieces of meat that he doles out to each of us.

  Without a knifepoint to hold the meat on, I have to toss the steaming meat from hand to hand, blowing on it to cool it before I can take a bite.

  I wolf mine down, not only from hunger but also from my need to begin searching for Scamper. Before I can stand, Amil slices off another piece and thrusts it into my hands.

  “If need be, you’ll go faster and farther on a full stomach,” he mutters, “than a partially filled one.”

  Amil wipes one cheek with the back of his knife hand. “As you’re so eager to chance a dark woodland and since you already know about the Vargs, let me tell you what else might be out there.”

  Using the tip of his knife, he points toward the dark woods. “This is not only Golian land, there are mountain trolls that sometimes wander down from the heights, and they make that Night Goblin you bounced against look like a little pup in comparison.”

  He holds his knife up. “Fangs twice as long and sharper than this blade. Talons for fingernails and as sharp as any dragon’s.

  “They’re so strong that they could rip out one of those trees over there and break it in half. They’re so fast on their feet that—”

  He never does get to tell me how fast a mountain troll was because just then, the dragons spring to their feet, their eyes peering intently toward the woods.

  Their ears twitch forward and a rumble, almost like far-off thunder rolls from their throats. Except for Phigby, we all leap up as well.

  Something is drawing close enough that it’s put the dragons on edge.

  Helmar and Cara notch an arrow and hold their bows with the bowstring taut, ready to unleash an arrow in an instant.

/>   Amir holds his ax in both hands, his eyes flicking from one end of the tree line to the other, ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble.

  Master Boren holds his sword pointed downward, but he’s taken several steps to stand alongside Cara, his head up, alert at the forest sounds.

  I haven’t moved as I’m not sure what to do, whereas the sprogs cluster around my feet. They too sense the nervous edge of the larger dragons.

  Phigby stirs the fire with a long, thin stick and after a few moments speaks barely above a whisper, “I would suggest that all of you lower your weapons and do not make any threatening gestures.

  “We are being watched.”

  I can see Helmar and Cara glance at each other before they slowly lower their bows. Amil lets his ax settle to his side.

  Phigby’s stirring has caused the light to grow brighter and sends sparks and embers floating upward.

  He rises to stand behind Cara and whispers in her ear for several moments. She turns to him with a startled expression before he whispers again.

  Cara leans in close, listening, while giving him several slow nods and then takes a step forward with lowered bow.

  She raises one arm up, with an open palm outward and calls out in a high voice, “Daughter of Golian, proud warrior of the mighty Amazos, we greet you.

  “We are but weary travelers, and mean no harm to you, your kin or your illustrious queen.”

  She pauses and Phigby mutters something low before Cara again calls out, “Would you honor us by sharing our fire and our meat?”

  We stare in the direction that Cara’s facing. The night has grown still; the air feels thick as if it pushes down on us. There is no wind to rustle the leaves. Even the crickets seem to have lost their voice.

  Then to our ears come heavy footsteps. Each pace sounds as if it crushes the needle-like leaves underfoot.

  Into the pale firelight that paints the hollow’s lip strides a giant maiden. She is twice as tall as Helmar, and more than that in bulk.

  She stops, and her deep-set blue eyes peer at each of us. Her yellow braided hair falls to her shoulders and shines against the darkness.

  By a dark bronze hilt, she holds in one hand an enormous two-edged sword that gleams and shimmers in the firelight.

  She holds it with an easy familiarity as if it’s but an extension of her arm. And I have no doubts as to her expertise in wielding such a blade against her foes.

  Over her thick leather jerkin that covers her shoulders and chest down to her slim waist, rests an enormous bow. Behind one shoulder is a quiver that must have taken several deer hides to make.

  A gray pleated skirt made of rough material hangs from mid-waist almost to her knees. Thick rawhide sandals shoe her feet.

  Around her neck is a gold chain that disappears in her undergarment, holding, no doubt, an ornament of some kind, perhaps a talisman of her people or faith.

  My eyes glance to what she holds in her other hand. My body goes rigid and I start to stumble forward.

  Phigby’s strong hand reaches out to grab my tunic and stop me in place. “Hold, Hooper,” he fiercely whispers. “Do not move or we are all dead.”

  The Golian warrior is holding Scamper.

  All she has to do is squeeze her fist shut and my one true friend will be nothing but a lump of fur and blood dripping through her fingers.

  “But she’s got Scamper!”

  “And she’ll have our heads,” Phigby declares, “if we’re not careful.”

  He turns his head slightly, his eyes still on the giant and orders in a small voice, “Now listen, all of you. Keep your heads up, and whatever you do, do not turn your face or eyes away from her. To do so is an insult.”

  Phigby really didn’t have to give me an injunction not to lower my head, I wouldn’t have taken my eyes off Scamper for anything.

  “Maiden of Golian,” Phigby begins in a firm, but level voice. “We mean no harm to your people for we are not enemies of your domain.

  “Among our own, it is well known that the warriors of Golian are not only mighty in battle, but generous in thought and deed as well. We beseech you to grant us the boon of mercy.”

  The giant lets her striking eyes go from face to face. When she gets to me, she peers intently, far longer than with the others. I dare not blink, and I do my best to meet her stare.

  She turns to the dragons, and I hear a sharp sucking sound as if she’s drawing in a breath through clenched teeth. She stands perfectly still for several heartbeats before she strides over to the beasts.

  For some reason, they don’t seem to mind her presence and stay absolutely still and calm. The giant gives the sapphires only a passing notice and goes straight to Golden Wind.

  With the golden sitting on her haunches, her eyes are almost level with the giant maiden’s face.

  The two seem to peer at each other before the huge female warrior takes a step forward and speaks to the golden in a voice so low that none of us can make out her words.

  The golden has her ears pointed forward as if listening to the giant’s every word. After a few moments of speech, the colossal maiden stops.

  She takes a step back, and to my amazement, bows her head to Golden Wind before she turns to us.

  “You are not Wilders,” she declares, and I’m taken aback by how, well, how feminine her voice sounds.

  I was expecting her to speak like Amil or Helmar, in a deep, bass voice, but instead, her voice is high-pitched and melodious, though firm in tone.

  “No,” Phigby answers hastily, “we are not Wilders. The truth is that we are fleeing from the Wilders, and we took refuge here.”

  Just then, Scamper dives from the giant’s hand, hits the ground and in two bounds lands in my arms. In an angry tone, he chatters at me and grabs at the venison that I still hold.

  “I’m sorry,” I respond as I hand him the roasted deer. “But you weren’t here, and we were hungry. I was very worried about you, though.”

  “Hooper!” Phigby hisses at me. “Not now! Get your head up!”

  I feel a presence and look up. The giant maiden warrior is standing just a few steps away. I suddenly realize that when Scamper jumped at me, I turned my face away and down from her.

  My eyes widen as I see her hand tighten on her sword hilt.

  I’ve made a grave and potentially fatal mistake. I’ve insulted an Amazo warrior.

  Thinking that the last thing I will ever hear is her sword whistling through the air just before it slices my head off my shoulders, I shut my eyes my eyes tight,

  I cannot bear to watch death riding on her blade.

  Chapter 5

  I wait for the—swish!—of a sword slicing through the air, but when it doesn’t come, my knees begin to buckle and my heart feels as if it’s about to explode in my chest.

  My stomach has more knots than Phigby’s beard, my mind is numb, my hands tremble, but somehow, when there’s no sound of a slashing sword, I gather up enough courage to open my eyes.

  The maiden’s gaze is narrow, sharp, unforgiving. I can see her hand grip her sword a bit tighter, and the hard line of her mouth tells me that she has not let my blunder go unnoticed.

  She is in a vengeful mood, and I am the target of her wrath.

  Scamper grabs my piece of meat and before I can stop him, jumps from my arms and lands on the ground. As if he were climbing a tree, Scamper shoots up the maiden’s leg and onto her arm. He holds up the deer meat and starts chattering at her.

  In a pleading tone, I hear Phigby implore, “We beg forgiveness my lady; this one is young and ignorant of manners and common courtesy. He meant no disrespect but was just overly concerned for his friend and happy to find him alive.”

  The giant maiden gazes at Phigby before she turns cold eyes on me again. Scamper is holding up his piece of venison to her, which in itself is amazing.

  He rarely shares anything with me, though I always share with him and now he’s willing to part with his food with a virtual stranger.<
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  The giant turns an ear to Scamper as if she’s listening, and a moment later, one side of her mouth turns up in a small smile.

  “Little one,” she mutters, “I thank you for your offering, but that is hardly enough for a nibble.”

  Scamper answers with a little “Arrhhhh,” then jumps back down to the ground and greedily tears into his venison.

  The Golian straightens and for some reason, glances over her shoulder at the golden. She then turns and with narrowed eyes on me slides her sword slowly, as if reluctantly, into her scabbard.

  She flicks her eyes around our company as if considering some thought. Then, as if she’s made some decision, slides her bow off her back, places her quiver on the ground, and with crisscrossed legs squats next to the fire.

  The giant maiden reaches out and places several logs on the fire, causing the flames to dance higher that send embers sparkling upwards. The added light casts sharp shadows across the ground rimming the bowl’s top in garish yellow and black.

  The giantess gestures toward the deer remnants on the spit. “I will allow you to eat of Golian meat, and I will do the same.”

  With a splintering of bone and sinew she pulls away a whole rack of ribs from what’s left of the roasting deer.

  To Scamper, she lifts up her chunk of meat and bone. “You eat that piece, little one, and I will fill my belly with this.”

  The giant motions with a dismissive hand towards the rest of us and commands, “Sit, eat.”

  I haven’t moved a finger since she slipped her sword in her scabbard. Seeing me still standing as if I were frozen in place, her mouth turns up in a wry smile.

  “As it is evident that you are indeed ignorant of manners and custom, I forgive you. You can move now if you wish.”

  With a chuckle, she rips off a mouthful of rib and meat and around the sound of bones spintering smiles at me with her eyes.

  She swallows and nods toward Scamper. “Besides, the little one says that you are his friend, and though not very smart, your heart is good.”

  My mouth drops open before I stammer, “Not very smart am I, well—”