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

by GARY DARBY

  Helmar, who had been inspecting the floodwaters on each side of our log boat, speaks up. “The water is still high and flowing strong. It will take a while for it to recede.”

  “Then I suggest,” Phigby answers, “that we make ourselves comfortable for the time being and see what the dawn brings.”

  “Hopefully, a better day than this night,” Amil grouses.

  He stands and says, “I’ll take the first watch.” It’s only then that I notice that he’s empty-handed, having lost his great ax in the flood.

  “I shall relieve you, then,” Helmar replies and offers up his sword, which somehow had stayed in his scabbard even in the midst of Vay’s roaring floodwaters.

  With a nod, Amil takes the sword and pushes through several branches to stand on the log’s end nearest to shore.

  I put my back against a jutting branch and slide down to sit. Phigby does the same on the other side so that we’re practically sitting back to back.

  Gazing up at the sky where the swirling clouds have thinned, I murmur to myself, “I wonder where the dragons are?”

  “If the winds haven’t carried them too far,” Phigby answers, “they’ll find us by and by.”

  I wait until the others have settled down and with a quick peek to ensure that both Alonya and Fotina have their eyes closed, I whisper to Phigby, “What did you mean when you said to Fotina that it was Alonya’s time?”

  He hesitates before he rumbles low, “That is a conversation that she and I will continue at a later time, Hooper.

  “For now, keep what I said and what you saw to yourself, for both are dangerous pieces of information and not to be bandied about lightly.”

  My eyes widen at his response. Dangerous?

  I start to ask how it is dangerous when I see that he’s closed his eyes, and his head has slumped forward on his chest.

  Skewing my mouth to one side. I recognize that posture—even if I ask, he’s not going to answer me.

  Peering up at the blackened sky anxiously again, I sincerely hope that Phigby was right when he said that he saw Scamper skying away on the golden.

  As his forays on the Mill Pond showed, he’s not a good swimmer. At least, I don’t think he’s a good swimmer. Then again, maybe he just doesn’t like to get wet.

  I settle down a little further, thinking that I’m going to have a hard time sleeping after all that excitement, but it’s not long before my eyelids droop and sleep takes me.

  A snort and a blast of air in my face cause me to jerk awake. I blink in the rising sun’s rays and see a giant head weaving in the light.

  I start to yell in fright when I hear a mocking laugh off to one side and see Cara feeding Scamper with what looks like bits of fish.

  The little tub wiggles his nose at me in greeting but doesn’t come bounding to me as he normally does as he has something more important to do, namely being hand-fed by Cara.

  I peer up at the enormous head, and the golden comes out of the glaring light and moves a little closer. “Not funny,” I grumble at Cara and then turn to Golden Wind, “and that goes for you, too.”

  The golden answers by snorting again, blowing my hair back. I glance over at Cara and ask, pointing at the fish, “Is there more where that came from?”

  With a sniff of the nose, she tosses me a lightly cooked trout. I rip out a piece of flaky flesh and mumble around my mouthful, “Where did these come from?”

  Cara hooks a thumb toward the water. “From the creek, where else? Did you think they fell from the sky?”

  She gives Scamper another bite of fish. “Dozens of these washed up on the bank. They must have been caught in the flood and were left high and dry when the water went down. Helmar and Amil have a fire going, and they’re roasting the whole lot.”

  I take another bite of fish and glance around. The stream has returned to almost normal, leaving our log canoe sitting on one bank. Uprooted trees and boulders litter each side of the brook, evidence of the powerful flood.

  Farther up the bank, Amil and Helmar stand around a blazing fire, turning gutted fish on makeshift spits, while the sprogs are gathered in a semicircle behind them, obviously hoping for a fish to be thrown their way.

  Farther away, out of earshot of the others, Phigby and Fotina seem to be having an earnest conversation. I suspect that Phigby is having that “at a later time” exchange he mentioned with Fotina.

  I take another bite before I reach up and stroke the golden’s muzzle. “Have the dragons eaten?”

  “Oh, yes,” Cara replies. “I was standing guard when they came back early this morning. As soon as they landed, they set to grazing along the streambanks, helping themselves to the fish.

  “Father, Helmar, and I had quite the time getting them away long enough for us to collect some for ourselves.

  “If we hadn’t, between them, the sprogs, and Scamper, we’d be filling our bellies with water for breakfast.”

  I hold up the fish to her. “I and my stomach thank you.”

  She gives me a little nod in answer. I glance around before I ask, “Where are your father and Alonya?”

  She gestures up the valley. “They went upstream to see if we can get back into the hidden valley. Nearly all of us lost our weapons in the flood and Father is hoping that if the water has drained away, we might find some of them.”

  I slowly take another bite and swallow. I don’t know why, but Cara is actually talking to me, and I’m afraid that if I finish the fish too soon, she’ll get up and leave.

  Glancing over at her, I ask, “Are you all right? I mean are you and your father all right?”

  “We are, Hooper.” She gives me an odd look. “Thanks to you, we all seem to be alive and well.”

  Just then, she peers past me. “Look, Father and Alonya are returning.”

  She jumps down off the log, and I wait until she’s gone before whispering, “How about you? Are you all right? What happened to you last night?”

  “I’m sorry, Hooper,” she whispers back, “but the water caught me before I was able to get to you. The sapphires and I were barely able to sky away.”

  She leans a little closer. “Were you worried about me?”

  “Uh, no,” I stutter. “Not about you, but Phigby did say you had Scamper with you.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmurs, peering at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Yes, that’s true, I did have Scamper while Wind Song and the others carried the sprogs.”

  She suddenly jerks her head up, as do the other dragons, and turns her head back over her shoulder. “What is it?” I hiss.

  “Wilder wings,” she immediately answers.

  “Close?”

  “Close enough,” she answers.

  “Over there,” I direct, “get under those trees.”

  She lumbers away as I scramble down off the log and frantically wave my arms. “Wilders!” I shout, pointing up into the air.

  Helmar and Amil take one look at me and start kicking at the fire to put it out.

  Cara and her father sprint over to the sapphires to get them moving toward the grove where the golden is headed. Alonya runs over to the fire and throws great handfuls of dirt over the last of the burning wood.

  I hobble behind the golden as the sapphires rush past me, with Cara and her father close behind. Phigby and Fotina are already under the trees, surveying the sky.

  Moments later, Alonya, carrying two sprogs, and Helmar and Amil carrying one each dash under the trees’ green umbrella.

  Scamper comes trundling in last, having gone to where the fish spit was knocked over and helped himself to another trout.

  We crouch low under the trees, apprehensively scanning the sky through the branches. I raise a hand at a whisper of sound and say, “Listen, off to our right.”

  The beating of dragon wings floats through the air.

  “How many?” Master Boren questions.

  I hold up one finger.

  “There have to be more,” Alonya asserts. “Wilders don’t fly alone.�
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  “Unless,” Helmar replies as he swings his head side to side, as if listening, “they’re spread out in a line and what we hear is the dragon closest to us.”

  “Wilders close by,” Amil growls, “and here we stand practically weaponless.”

  He turns to Master Boren. “Did you get to the cleft? Can we get back inside?”

  “Yes and no,” Master Boren answers. “We found the opening but after looking it over decided to come back for you.”

  “The entrance is choked full of logs and debris,” Alonya explains. “It will take some doing, but we can climb over.”

  “Too bad we can’t just sky into the valley,” Cara says.

  “Maybe we can,” I reply. “The Wilder is moving off. If we wait long—”

  “No!” Fotina’s response is swift, sharp. “We can’t wait.”

  She turns to Master Boren and says, “Two of you will come with Alonya and me back to the valley. The rest will stay here with the dragons.”

  “Helmar, Amil,” Master Boren immediately orders and points to the two.

  Without another word, the four dash back toward the concealed valley, using what trees are left standing to remain hidden from Wilder eyes.

  Master Boren turns and says, “We need to be ready when they return. Cara, see what fish you can recover from the fire spit. Hooper—”

  “I know, I know,” I say before he can go on, “take care of the sprogs and after that, fill up the water flasks.”

  “I’ll help you, Hooper,” Phigby offers.

  The sprogs are in a particularly feisty mood today, and Phigby and I have a hard time of it before Scamper comes waddling over, puts his nose against Regal’s snout and chitters loudly.

  The sprogs immediately become docile.

  “How does he do that?” I sputter as I pick up Strider and carry her over to the golden.

  “I don’t know,” Phigby answers as he grabs Wind Sparkle and follows me. “Just be glad that he does.”

  With Scamper herding Regal and Glow over to Golden Wind, Phigby and I deposit the first two sprogs into her saddlebags and soon have the last two tucked tight.

  As I climb down off the golden, I ask Phigby, “So, did you and Fotina have that “at a later time” conversation?”

  “Hooper,” he grumbles back at me, “as I said before, keep your mouth and your thoughts shut on that subject.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘buts,’ Hooper,” he snaps. “This you keep to yourself and don’t let me hear you mention it again.” With that, he stalks away, apparently upset with what I had supposed was an innocent question.

  I lean up against the golden’s leg watching Phigby’s back as he strides over to join Master Boren, who’s scanning the sky for any sign of Wilders.

  “I think,” I say softly, “that Phigby knows something about Alonya and Fotina, but he won’t share.”

  “Phigby knows many things that he doesn’t share,” the golden answers. “In this case, he doesn’t because it would endanger not only you but the whole company.”

  “Wha—” I stammer. “Wait, you know what he’s hiding, too, don’t you?”

  “Hooper, there are times when it’s best to just let sleeping dragons be. This is one of those times.” She stares at me impassively, and I can see that I’ll get no more from her, either.

  I grunt and say, “You know what I’ve learned about being the Gem Guardian?”

  “What is that, Hooper?”

  “That the only time anyone considers you to be of any real importance is when something awful is about to happen, like getting drowned, or eaten alive by giant wolves.

  “Otherwise, you’re just plain ol’ Hooper.”

  She swings her head around so that we’re face to face. “Then just be glad that you’re not important all the time, Hooper, because that would mean something bad is continually happening, now wouldn’t it?”

  I scratch my head and admit to myself, there’s something to be said for her comment. She lays her head down on her forelegs and closes her eyes.

  Since neither she nor the sapphires are sounding the alarm that must mean that there are no Wilders in the immediate area.

  Cara, using a piece of bark, is trying to shovel the fish remnants into one of the dragons’ saddlebags. She’s not doing very well at it, either.

  I walk over to a nearby tree, scour the ground, find what I’m looking for, and hurry over. “Mind if I help? I’m sort of an expert at shoveling up this kind of thing you know.”

  She eyes me for a moment before he holds out her crude shovel. “Suit yourself.”

  I hold up my arm’s length of stripped tree branch and point to the end. “You need somenting more like a shovel and a bit larger than what you have.”

  I take a step toward the ashes and broken fish pieces. “And your motion is all wrong, too.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Uh, huh. You’re all stiff, and you don’t bend. Now, watch me, it’s all in the knees, back, wrist, and arms.”

  I plant my pointy-ended piece of tree limb in the pile and begin to shovel. “You want a nice, smooth, natural motion like this. Scoop, twist and dump, scoop, twist and dump.

  “Once you get that rhythm going, why you can knock out a whole dragon paddock, or in this case, a pile of mashed trout, in no time.”

  “Using the Hooper scoop-twist-and-dump method,” she replies dryly.

  “Can’t go wrong,” I answer. “It’s my trade secret that I don’t share with just anybody you know.”

  She eyes me and gives a little curtsy with an upturn of her lips. “I’m honored to be one of the select few who know your secret. Trust me, I promise I won’t share it with anybody.”

  After a bit, I shovel the last of the fish remains into her saddlebags and say, “There you go. See? We’re all done and not a speck of fish remaining.”

  “I’m suitably impressed,” she responds. “The Hooper scoop-twist-and-dump method is certainly efficient.”

  Between us, we carry the saddlebags over to where Master Boren and Phigby stand surveying the sky. “Here’s the fish,” Cara says. “I suggest we keep it here, or the dragons will try to eat it and the bags.”

  “Good idea,” Master Boren answers while looking over his shoulder at the slumbering beasts.

  He nods and says, “They’re sleeping, and that’s a good sign that maybe the Wilders have passed us by.”

  “Even if they have,” Phigby points out, “it doesn’t mean they won’t be back.”

  “I agree,” Master Boren replies, “and we need to leave as soon as those four return.”

  “And go where?” I ask.

  “Where else?” Phigby answers in a grim tone. “But deeper into the domain, where hopefully the Wilders won’t follow.”

  “But what if they do?” Cara asks, her fists set on her hips and her face hard with eyes to match.

  Phigby hesitates before saying, “Then, my dear, it would appear that we’ll be caught between the Wilders on the one hand and Queen Gru’s brutal Mori Amazos on the other.”

  Chapter 17

  Ouch. I certainly don’t like the sound of that, though in the predicament we seem to be in, Phigby’s blunt statement is probably right on the mark.

  Meaning, if the Wilders don’t get us, nasty Queen Gru’s Mori Amazos will. It’s a morbid thought but I can’t help but wonder—if I had to choose, at whose hand would I rather die?

  I keep that particular notion to myself as there’s no reason to add more sour sauce to an already bitter situation.

  While the dragons sleep, we remain close by, watching the sky for Wilders and the forest for the return of our companions.

  It’s still morning when Master Boren gives a start and says, “They’re back, and I think they’ve found some of our weapons.”

  I turn to see the four running strongly toward us. Helmar carries bows but only one quiver while Amil holds his beloved ax.

  Alonya has her quiver, and her bow strung over her sho
ulder. Both giants not only have scabbards with swords strapped to their waists, but both now carry oblong battle shields as well, something neither had when we first met.

  The shields gleam a striking silver color in the sunlight though both are plain and without ornamental decorations or coloring.

  Moments later, all four are in among the trees. “The water washed them deep into the grotto,” Helmar explains, holding out a bow to Cara, “and left them there.”

  “We had to dig them out of the mud,” Amil adds.

  “Your home?” Phigby asks Fotina and Alonya.

  “Destroyed, nothing left,” Fotina murmurs and then gestures toward her shield and sword, “except these.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Cara murmurs sadly. “You took us in, offered us food and shelter, and your reward is the destruction of home and hearth.”

  Fotina lays a hand on Cara’s shoulder. “Our hearth may be gone but our hearts still beat, and for that I, for one, am grateful.”

  “What now?” Amil asks. “With the Wilders coming so close, we certainly can’t stay here.”

  I see Phigby and Fotina exchange glances before Fotina says, “There is no suitable place to hide in the lowlands.”

  She hesitates before motioning toward the mountains. “However, there is a place deep in the mountains that may offer us temporary sanctuary.

  “But the journey is both hard and perilous, and there’s no guarantee that we won’t be seen by the Wilders.”

  “Is there another choice to be had?” Master Boren asks. “Pushing farther into the domain seems as risky as trying to evade the Wilders.”

  “Yes,” Phigby allows, “to some degree that is so. But we have to remember that the border to our own kingdom is closed to us, and we cannot venture farther north or turn southward. Not yet, anyway.”

  “If we go deeper into the mountains,” Amil questions and turns to Fotina, “are we not inviting discovery by your Queen Gru?”

  Fotina and Phigby exchange another glance. “Yes,” Fotina admits, “there is that. However, to my mind, these woodlands are no longer safe with the Wilders scouting deeper into the domain.

  “And between here and Dronopolis, where we certainly cannot go, I know of only one place that is sufficiently hidden and offers both water and the chance to hunt game for food.”