Wings of Fire (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 7)

by GARY DARBY

  With that, he closes his eyes and lays his head back down and though Borm gives us a small head bow, his eyes flick to Marce and remain there.

  Liam then leads us to another part of the room that opens into a large alcove. At the end of the nook my eyes catch a peculiar sight. It’s a craggy, wooden chair that seems carved right into the tree. What appears to be stringy, light-colored roots curve and drape themselves around and over the chair.

  Liam must have caught me looking quizzically at the odd-appearing furnishing for he gestures toward the chair. “You find my Throne of Splinters interesting, Hooper Menvoran?”

  “Uh, yes sir, I do,” I reply. “But why do you call it your Throne of Splinters?”

  His lips twitch at the corners in a bare smile. “I will explain in good time, but first, introductions are in order.”

  He steps to the far end of our group in front of Snag. “Snag of the Lost Forest. Once lost, but now found.”

  Down the line he goes, “Askoriia Pimlin of the Dyrfolken, she who holds that which was broken but is now made whole.

  “Talia, First of the Three of the mighty MerDraken and wielder of Wave Master.

  “Amil, the renowned Traveler whose journeys to far lands are well known among his fellow Travelers.

  “Tavin, King of the Northern Kingdom,” Liam bows just a little, “my condolences on the death of your father, a good king and noble spirit.

  “Helmar Stoudtman and beside him, Cara Dracon, both of the Northern Kingdom as well and who rescued Golden Wind from the murderous Wilders.”

  The Vinderfangen pauses for a moment in front of Phigby, “And of course here is Professor Phineas Phigby, world-famous Book Master and Healer.” He peers at Phigby for a moment. “Among other notable titles.”

  He turns to Alonya, “Queen Alonya Escher of the Golian Domain, who, with her warrior Amazos turned aside Prince Aster and the Wilders. A great victory, but at a high cost.”

  Liam peers up at Alonya’s shoulders. “And here we have Pip, Kyr, and Sim from fairyland. Small in stature but mighty in deed, yes?”

  Pip hooks a thumb to his chest. “You betcha. We big warriors. Spit in old hag’s eye.”

  “We spit in both eyes,” Kyr adds.

  “And nose, too,” Sim gushes.

  “We no spit in nose,” Kyr retorts.

  “Did too,” Sim pouts.

  “Did—”

  “Enough!” Alonya growls, reaching up a hand to shut the pixies up. “Sorry, they sometimes get carried away.”

  Liam smiles slightly. “Let me rephrase that, mighty in deed and exuberance.”

  He then stops in front of me and he seems to study my face for a moment. “Hooper Menvoran, Gem Guardian, he who carries Galondraig, the dragon-borne sword, and friend to none other than Golden Wind, the great golden dragon. He that carries burdens both in body and spirit but has earned the ire of Vay because of his deeds and strength.”

  He raises a hand to pull at his chin as he acknowledges, “Of course, we are missing a number of other valuable members of this company—your mighty and noble dragons, of course, and if I recall right, two small, but very brave furry fellows.”

  Smiling at me, he asks. “Yes?”

  I smile back. “Yes, that would be Scamper and Silky.”

  “Ah yes, Scamper and Silky,” Liam murmurs. “Good and stalwart friends, no?”

  “Very good and stalwart friends,” I answer.

  Taking a step to his right, he motions to Marce, “And last, but certainly not least, our kindred, Marce of the Nervan Uhlan who can barely contain herself with all the questions she has.”

  “Oh, Master Liam,” she answers, “you have no idea. I have so many questions that I’m about to burst inside. Please, won’t you tell me—us, I mean? How did you get here? Are you from the lost Myskall family?”

  Liam studies her face before he smiles just a bit. “I suppose we can spare a few moments to answer your questions. After all, we wouldn’t want you to burst apart.”

  “I would hope not,” Amil mumbles, “messy, very messy and makes me queasy at the sight.”

  Ignoring Amil’s jibe, Liam begins. “Yes, we are the descendants of the family Myskall, though we have our own families now. And to how we got here? We call those evil days the Children’s Trail of Travail, Terror, and Tears.”

  “Yes,” Marce nods, “Borm shared some of that with me but not all.”

  “You know of the Ubek Clan’s journey in these lands?” Liam asks Marce.

  “Yes. The Historica gives an account that the Myskall family went missing and though they were searched for, no trace was ever found.”

  Liam purses his lips and nods. “We didn’t exactly go missing,” he replies, “we were captured by soldiers of the Dahl Kingdom.”

  He draws in a deep breath and his voice grows hard. “The Dahl’s attack on our forebears killed the Myskall adults. You see, all of them, both men and women, placed themselves between their children and the Dahl soldiers.

  “When the attack came, the bloodthirsty Dahl killed anyone who stood in their way. They took no prisoners and slew every Uhlan adult until only the children were left. Some of the older ones, not more than eleven or twelve seasons old, herded the children into the forest, away from the killing fields in an attempt to save them.

  “The Dahl murderers started to follow to slay them too, but the Dahl queen intervened. She begged the king to spare the children. At first, he refused, but then, at the pleading of his queen, relented.

  “However, he ordered his soldiers to force the children deeper into the forest and at a certain point, release them. His parting words were: ‘They live in the greenery, let them die in the greenery, and their blood shall water the trees.’”

  With a little shrug, Liam continues. “It could only be that he intended that without the adults to protect the young ones, the wild beasts of the forest would kill off the children. That way, he honored the request of his queen in that his soldiers did not actually slay the little ones. Nevertheless, it fulfilled his desire to be see them slain just as he had killed their parents.”

  “How many of the children survived?” Phigby questions.

  “There were close to a hundred children that fled from the Dahl’s savagery,” Liam replies, his eyes and voice sad. “The soldiers pushed them deep into the wilds for several days, denying them food and water and then turned their backs on them with a warning—that if they ever saw them again they would follow their parents to their graves.

  “Led by those few older ones who survived, they wandered and wandered, surviving on berries, wild roots that were edible, at times wood bark and grass if they were unable to find game. By the time the last of them, fifty-eight in number, came across the outer portal in the cliffside, they were starving, little more than skeletons wearing a few rags.”

  His lips lift in a small smile. “You heard our wild beast growl as you made your way through the passage? So did they and at first, would not enter, even though the cave seemed a perfect shelter for them. But then, two of the braver children, Baktak and Lenor, went into the passageway and found that there was no beast. Instead, they found this haven with its plentiful water and game and convinced the rest to follow.

  “And so, here we’ve lived in our secret valley ever since and as none of the children had any idea of how to find center point,” he lifted his arms and spread them wide, “we made this our center point.”

  Marce’s eyebrows furrow as she asks, “I don’t understand why the Uhlan that went back to search never found out about the children.”

  Liam shakes his head and his sigh is low and deep. “I can only think that the Dahl somehow covered up the massacre. Perhaps they burned all the bodies, buried the remains in a common grave. As you can imagine, we’ve never gone back to that place, though we know that the Dahl themselves were destroyed in a war with the Kroats some seasons later. It may well be that our story died with them.”

  “So, you’ve stayed in this Hidden Haven
as you called it,” Phigby questions, “for all this time and never ventured outward, to search for the Nervan Uhlan?”

  “When we settled here,” Liam answers, “the young ones’ shock at seeing their parents, their families killed, the fear and deprivation they went through before they found this valley—these were so great that for several generations none dared go very far from the outer portal.

  “However, over time, some of us began to go farther and farther afield, not in search of Nervan, as we had no idea where it lay, but to see more of this land.”

  He gestures toward Borm. “Borm there is one of our more adventurous spirits. His forays are often a full moon’s cycle but like all of us he keeps away from others, never revealing himself.”

  “Some of you still speak the old dialect,” Marce says, “while others, like Borm, can also speak the common tongue.”

  “Yes,” Liam acknowledges. “Over the seasons, in secret, we’ve spied on several villages a goodly distance away and slowly learned the common tongue. Those few who learned taught others.”

  His face grows dark and hard. “As evil spreads, it’s become necessary that we’re able to understand those outside our valley. But only because we realize that we may well have to go into the world, though we will never be of the world. Still, we’ve become very wary in taking any journey beyond our vale of late and then only for short trips and well armed at all times.”

  “Because of the growing evil?” Marce questions.

  “Yes,” Liam replies, and looks up to the ceiling, “The Whisperer’s warnings of danger, of evil that walks the land, and of threats both near and far have become more frequent and more urgent. Since we are still few in number, our best defense is to keep ourselves hidden but know what lurks beyond our mountain walls.”

  “So,” Marce replies with a little sigh, “in all this time, you’ve not taken up the old Uhlan tradition of exploring.”

  She frowns slightly as she continues. “You may have been separated from Nervan, but it seems you are more like us than you know. Keeping to yourselves and not seeing what the world has to offer, never venturing far from your haven, that’s been our way until very recently when a very few of us ventured forth.”

  “And you found your way to this company,” Liam states. “How did that happen, may I ask, and why are there not more Uhlan with you?”

  Marce looks uncomfortable for a moment before answering, “Over a full season ago, our Jelani allowed four companies to set out from Nervan and take up our seeking ways. You see, the Nervan Uhlan have not left center point for a long, long time. I was with one of those companies, but now I am with the Company of the Golden Dragon. My Uhlan companions returned to Nervan to tell of what we found.”

  She turns to look at me, her eyes honest and full. “My comrades and I did a terrible thing. We almost allowed the Evil One to capture the golden dragon and we paid dearly as a consequence. Afterward, I felt that I needed to join the company to remove some of the horrible stain on our honor because of what we had done.”

  “And have you, child?” Liam asks.

  Marce looks at me with questioning eyes. “Many times over,” I reply. “Marce of the Nervan Uhlan is a valued and trusted member of this company and a true friend to Golden Wind, the golden dragon.”

  “It warms me to know that,” Liam nods and lays a hand on Marce’s shoulder. “It is not good to live with such heaviness on one’s heart and mind.”

  “Yes,” Marce replies and gives me a sideways glance. “It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m glad that I’m with them, though I admit there are times when I miss Nervan.”

  “Now, we know both of our stories,” Liam answers with a small smile.

  Phigby steps forward. “We were told to search for a Whisperer, someone who listens to the whispers of the wind. From what both Borm and Jelani Ros indicated and by your title, are you the one who listens to the whispers of the wind?”

  Liam dips his head a little in answer. “Yes, that is my title and yes, I listen to the whispers of the wind.” He raises his hands, looks up. “But you are standing in the Whisperer or as some call it, the Wind Catcher. You see, it catches the whispers on the wind and then shares them with me.”

  Phigby nods slowly, murmurs, “Interesting. How very interesting.”

  We exchange glances among ourselves for a moment before Marce says, “May I ask, if the Whisperer tells you of things far and wide, why has it not told you where Nervan lies?”

  Liam nods several times. “A question that each Vinderfangen before me has asked as have I, and to which I have no answer. We’ve learned a great many things from our Wind Catcher but the location of Nervan is not one of them.”

  He sighs a little bit, and then brings his arms up in an expansive gesture. “It is an honor to have the Company of the Golden Dragon in my home.” His lips lift at the corners in a wan smile. “Though many of my people would not consider it an honor.”

  Uncomfortable at his last words, I shift my stance, but it is Phigby who speaks. “May I inquire as to why?”

  “As I’ve said,” Liam replies, “for generations we have kept this valley hidden from all others. A way to protect ourselves and to ensure that what happened in the past would never happen again. You are the first to enter our hidden home. Oh, there have been some that tried, but none who made it past our ‘beast’ lived to tell what lay beyond.”

  “I thought,” Cara admits, “that the sound came from some enormous creature until Phigby explained it was the wind.”

  Liam smiles thinly. “Yes, most think that they face a giant, ravenous beast and have no desire to confront the thing. They are the lucky ones who turn aside but there are a few brave souls who venture farther only to be met with a hail of arrows from all sides.”

  “From all sides?” Tavin questions. “I don’t understand.”

  “We know that pathway as well as we know the trails through our forest,” Liam replies. “There are hidden nooks and crannies that you did not see on which we set our archers at all times. Even with the brightest torches that light the tunnel, those areas remain hidden, as do our guards, all of which are expert archers.”

  “I see,” Tavin nods. “An ambush waiting to happen at any time.”

  “That’s right,” Liam answers, “and so you see, for our people to find you, along with your beasts, inside our home . . . well, it is a bit unsettling to say the least.”

  I suppose our faces must have shown unease for Liam hastens to add, “You have nothing to fear, for I have instructed the Jelani to spread the word that you are our friends and that your presence is required here as a matter of our own safety. In fact, I told them it was a matter not only of our survival but for the Wind Catcher’s as well.”

  After a quick exchange of glances with Cara, I ask, “Survival? You sound as if you’re expecting someone to attack you.”

  “There is no doubt of it,” Liam replies. “There are many armies on the march. One is on the way here, that’s why it was so imperative that we find you. We need your help and soon.”

  “Hold on,” Amil sputters, “I thought you said this valley was hidden and no one knows about it.”

  “Yes,” Liam nods, “it is concealed from all but one.”

  His pronouncement holds us perfectly still until Marce gasps, “Vay!”

  “Yes,” Liam answers in a grim tone, “and she is sending her army to destroy this valley and all that live here.”

  “But,” Marce protests, “you’re no threat to Vay. Why would Vay want to kill everyone here, destroy this beautiful place?”

  “You mean other than for her bloodthirsty ways?” Amil growls.

  Liam lifts his hands up and gazes up at the woody, splintered roof. “The people call this tree the Wind Catcher, but it is more than that. You see, when we first came to this valley, this tree was old even then. It was so beautiful, yet it was dying. We tended to it and over time, it regained its health.

  “In return, from that
time on, it whispered to one among us what was happening in the world, sometimes far, far away, from even across the oceans.”

  He lowers his arms, his gaze turning solemn. “Vay knows that the Wind Catcher and I are the only ones who can help you find what you seek. It’s told me much about her doings, her comings and goings, where she is strong and where she is weak.”

  “How—” Amil sputters.

  “Does not the name Wind Catcher give you a clue?” Liam answers in a casual, easy manner as if what he described weren’t out of the ordinary. “Does not the wind go practically everywhere on Erdron? When it passes by here, the Whisperer catches it and tells me.”

  “Add that to the wind’s accomplishments,” Cara whispers to me, “along with its singing and so forth.”

  Liam turns to me and motions to the odd-appearing chair. “You asked why I called it the Throne of Splinters. When I sit there, the tree wraps itself around me and whispers to me all the things that are happening or have happened.”

  He chuckles lightly. “When I rise I inevitably find that the tree has provided me with more than one gift and the others I usually find in my behind.”

  “So . . .” I stammer, “this enormous tree tells you all these things?”

  “Yes,” Liam smiles. “I’m not a soothsayer, Hooper, nor do I have a Premonish that I can gaze into and have it show me the future. No, like every Vinderfangen before me, I have learned to listen and listen well to what the wind carries to this tree.”

  Marce shakes her head and asks, “Sorry, a Premonish?”

  “A crystal of power,” Phigby muses. “Some supposedly have the ability to allow you to see into the future, others can give you images of what your enemy is planning. There’s even one that allegedly allows you to speak to a god or goddess of your choice. Though from what little I recall there was no guarantee that you would receive an answer.”

  He strokes his beard for a moment, nodding a little to himself. “It’s said that the gods removed them from Erdron during the First Epoch but then again, I’m not sure just what we can believe of the gods anymore.”