by GARY DARBY
“All right,” I reply slowly, “so the tree talks to you and that’s how you know about all that’s going on in the world.”
“Yes,” Liam answers. “The leaves capture the whispers on the wind and when I sit on my throne,” he chuckles, “and pay the price, mind you, I hear what the leaves captured over the past while.”
He eyes me while saying, “The wind is forever whispering to us, but few of us ever listen. Do you listen to the wind, Hooper? Really listen?”
I shake my head at him. “No, I guess not. But it just seems a bit strange to hear that you can talk to a tree and it talks to you.”
“Oh?” Liam replies, his eyes narrowing as he shuffles a bit closer, thrusting his face close to mine. “I know of other circumstances that would seem just as strange.”
He holds my eyes for several moments. He knows. He knows that Golden Wind and I can talk to each other! However, there’s no animosity in his eyes. In fact, there’s a twinkle as if he’s laughing on the inside at some joke between us.
Liam lifts his gaze upward, stares at the woody ceiling, his eyes gentle as you would gaze upon a friend. “Speaking of the gods, we consider this to be a gift from them. With the Whisperer I hear whatever and wherever the winds go, for do they not cover the entirety of Erdron?”
Nodding slowly, I admit, “I suppose they do.”
“There is no supposing, young Hooper,” Liam smiles, “otherwise how would I know to tell my people that you and your company were in these lands and that we needed to search for you and bring you here? Though I do apologize for our rude behavior, to have strangers come into our haven has not been an easy thing for the people to accept.”
His face clouds for a moment as he presses his lips tight before rumbling, “I am only sorry that we did not find you before the Shadows did and for that I apologize. None should have to experience the foulness that they bring.”
I glance toward both Phigby and Marce. Phigby has his fingers stroking several strands of beard, his lips pursed, and his eyes narrowed, while Marce stands with open mouth.
“Uh, no need to apologize,” I return. “Some days, no matter what you do, they just seem to end up that way, you know?”
Liam chuckles lightly. “Indeed, I do know, Hooper, indeed I do.”
“I take it,” Phigby asks, “that there have been any number of Vinderfangens over the seasons?”
“Yes,” Liam smiles. “I may have a better memory than most, but I still age as anyone else does. In fact, the time grows near that I will choose my successor from among the youngsters here and train him or her up to be the next Vinderfangen.”
“Fascinating,” Phigby nods. “And that’s how you pass down the history of your clan? The carvings on your trees and your memory?”
“That’s right,” Liam answers. “If we had the time I could recite the names of every Uhlan who’s lived in this valley from those fifty-eight who first entered down until the newest babe.”
“You’re a living Historica,” Marce declares.
“I suppose so,” Liam replies and then his face turns grim. “But enough of me, we have more important things to talk about. I know why you are in these lands, but you’ve come too late. She has taken them.”
My body goes rigid at the word “she” and I ask, “You mean Vay?”
“Yes,” Liam answers. ““No doubt, Vay ordered the dwarves’ capture, but it was not she who did the deed. It was her foul lieutenant.”
“Bazyl,” I state.
“Yes,” Liam acknowledges, “with the demon ones and their hounds.” He turns and begins to pace a little. “But there is more. Whisperings of darkness in the far north, rumblings from deep within the ground that there is a mighty demon army just waiting to come forth.”
Phigby murmurs to us, “The threat the sisters spoke to us about. Vay is preparing a new onslaught of evil ones from the underworld.”
“But,” I ask, “she hasn’t brought them forth yet?”
“Apparently not,” Phigby answers. “And for a good reason, I suspect.”
“Such as?” Cara questions.
“It is one thing,” Phigby explains, “to bring a few fiends from the nether regions—”
“Like her Nahls,” I state.
“Yes,” Phigby acknowledges, “but it takes a great deal of power and magic to summon forth a whole army. I suspect that Vay has spread herself so thin that she hasn’t had the ability to concentrate all her power at one time and in one place.”
“You mean at her portal?” Cara asks.
“Indeed,” Phigby replies and smiles just a bit. “And I suspect, in some part to our credit.”
“But,” Cara stresses, “if she’s ever able to concentrate her power as you said—”
“Then she will be able,” Phigby replies, his voice growing hard, “to summon the most nefarious of creatures and in numbers that would sweep across Erdron like a firestorm sweeps through a forest.”
“Lovely, just lovely,” Cara sighs.
“There’s more,” Liam adds.
I glance at Cara and she returns my frown. “This just keeps getting better.”
“The whisperings,” Liam explains, “are that Vay has already summoned a new menace, a creature like unto Bazyl in its abilities.”
“What sort of menace?” Phigby asks.
Liam shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. The whisperings are but fragments, bits and pieces here and there as if somehow someone had taken an ax to the wind.”
“What of the dwarves?” Phigby asks. “You said that Bazyl took them, do you know where?”
“I believe to the same place in the north, a land of fire and ice,” Liam answers. “And a mountain of eternal snow yet which glows within as if it has a heart of fire.”
“Fire and ice?” I sputter, shooting a quick glance at Phigby. “Seems we’ve heard that before.”
“That we have,” Phigby acknowledges and his face takes on a troubled expression.
“However,” Liam returns, “there is a more immediate threat that we Uhlan face. There is a great fleet anchored in a large bay not far from here. From it, like flies that spew from a rotten carcass, comes a host of red dragons and drogs. There can be only one thing in this part of the world that Vay’s army would want to destroy.”
He gestures upward. “The Whisperer and me, for we can tell others of her minions’ whereabouts and what they are up to.”
“You are a direct threat to her,” Phigby asserts, “by knowing when and where she will strike.”
“Few there are,” Liam declares, “that pose a greater threat to her devices than I.”
“How soon until this army can get here?” Tavin asks.
“A day, perhaps two,” Liam answers. “For some reason, the scarlet dragons, who could get here much faster, stay with the drogs, who march on foot.”
“That’s because they’ve had their nose bloodied so many times,” Alonya growls, “that they’re afraid to split their forces up.”
“And you’re sure they’re headed for this valley?” Marce questions.
“No doubt, whatsoever,” Liam replies.
“Do they know we’re here?” Phigby questions.
“I think not,” Liam answers. “Which should work in our favor.”
“Or,” Amil rumbles, “they do and that’s the reason they’re staying together.”
“Does Vay’s demon lead them?” I ask.
“No,” Liam answers matter-of-factly. “He is with the dwarves to the north and personally overseeing their efforts.”
“It must be Talonda Kur,” Alonya snarls, “who is their battle captain.”
“Yes,” Liam confirms, “and he drives the drogs hard, with little rest.”
“He needs a victory,” Phigby mutters, “and a quick one to remain in Vay’s good graces.”
“Then let’s make sure he doesn’t get either a quick or a slow one,” Amil grunts.
“That he drives them hard,” Alonya nods, “means that when
they get here, the drogs will be tired, perhaps close to exhaustion.”
“And that too,” Phigby agrees, “will work in our favor.”
“Unless,” Tavin points out, “he keeps a sword in their backs to urge them on.”
“Indeed,” Phigby growls, “a sword in your back does increase your willpower and fortitude.”
“Not to mention,” Amil snorts, “it leaves holes in your tunic.”
“Their battle plan would be simple enough,” Tavin muses, “their dragons cannot sky over the mountains, they would have to go over the cliff, then drop into the valley and attempt to destroy the Whisperer with dragon fire, while the—”
“Drogs,” Alonya interjects, “would try and force their way into the vale through the tunnel.”
“And what defense can you mount on your own?” Phigby asks Liam.
“We’ve recalled the other two companies,” Liam replies. “Fortunately, they are still whole and did not meet the fate of Ralos’s company. With them, we have close to three hundred archers and swordsmen.”
“And arrows?” Cara asks.
“For several days,” Liam replies, “we’ve been making arrows and sharpening blades. By this time tomorrow, we should have close to three extra quivers for each archer.”
We glance uneasily among ourselves before Phigby says, “We’re all thinking the same—it will be the Wilders who pose the greater threat. The drogs will be hard-pressed to get through the tunnel.”
“Still,” Tavin replies, “we have to ensure that the tunnel is adequately defended or else our combined forces will be fighting two enemies within the valley and not one.”
“What if . . .” I ponder out loud, “we could turn the drogs back before they get here? It may sow confusion in the Wilder ranks and make them easier targets.”
“You have an idea, lad?” Phigby asks.
“A sketchy one,” I reply.
“Sketch away,” Amil urges. “I, for one, am at a loss as to how to counter those slufaces.”
Talia laughs lightly. “Picked up a word or two of MerDraken, did we, Amil?”
Amil shrugs. “Heard it so many times it kind of stuck with me.”
“Go ahead, Hooper,” Cara urges, “we’re listening.”
“Well, I think that if we . . .” I lay out my thoughts, interrupted here and there by helpful ideas from the company.
It’s near midday when Phigby turns to Liam and asks, “Well, what do you think of our plan?”
Liam nods slowly. “I believe it has more of a chance to succeed than anything we could have done alone. For that, we are forever in your debt.”
“Don’t thank us just yet,” Amil rumbles, “like a six-headed dog there’s any number of ways this thing can turn on its head and bite us.”
“Indeed,” Phigby acknowledges, “perhaps you should evacuate your women and children, at least they will—”
“Be out of harm’s way?” Liam finishes. “Even if I could order them to leave, they wouldn’t go. They have a fierce love for their families, this valley, and our life here. They would give up their lives to defend it, too.”
“Then,” Alonya suggests, “you should arm them as best as you can, for they may well prove to be the last line of defense between their attackers and those they love.”
“Just like the Myskall parents of old,” Marce whispers.
With a long sigh, Liam murmurs, “Let us hope that history does not repeat itself.”
“Indeed not,” Phigby concurs and then directs, “let’s make for our camp, we have our own preparations to make and get some much-needed rest. It will be a busy night.”
As the company begins to drift out, Helmar stops beside Liam and asks, “Any chance we could get some of those extra arrows? We’re a bit low ourselves.”
“Of course,” Liam replies, “I’ll see to it that they’re delivered to your camp.”
“Vinderfangen,” Borm offers, “I’ll take care of that, if you wish.”
“Thank you, Borm,” Liam replies.
Borm eases next to Marce and the two begin conversing as they make for the large doorway. Cara motions with her head toward the two, gives me an impish grin, and whispers, “I think Marce has made a friend.”
I smile back and whisper, “I think the friendship is mutual.”
I then turn to Liam. “May I ask you a question about the Whisperer?”
“Certainly, what would you like to know?”
“What does it sound like when it whispers to you?”
Liam gets a thoughtful expression, brings a hand up to one grizzled cheek and scratches for a moment. “I suppose the best way I can describe it is that it’s a small, still voice at times and at other times it’s as if I have certain impressions. A few times, I’ve had images swirl through my head, showing me a certain place, people, or an event.”
He smiles. “Like you and Golden Wind.”
My mouth sags. “You’ve actually seen us?”
“Oh, yes.” His smile broadens. “Such as a delightful night ride on a golden dragon with a certain beautiful young woman in the Denalian Mountains.”
For a moment, I’m stunned, then I hold up both hands, palms out. “That’s all I need to know. You’ve convinced me. We’ll see you later, Liam.”
“That you will,” he replies with a wave before he turns to go over to Ralos.
While Marce and Borm stay a bit ahead of the company and talk among themselves, the rest of us discuss how best to counter the drogs. “It has to be the Sung Dar,” Amil states, “sitting out in that bay. No one else has enough ships to carry an entire army.”
“No doubt,” Tavin agrees, “but they are not the primary threat and we must not lose sight of that fact.”
“No . . .” Phigby agrees slowly, “they’re not, yet to the drogs and Wilders they could be crucial. So much so that they would do anything to protect them.”
“How so?” Talia asks.
“These eastern lands are not home to either drog or Wilder,” Phigby explains, “the Sung Dar represent their way back to the western shores.”
“You’re thinking,” Snag replies, “that if we threaten the Sung Dar, both the drogs and Wilders might turn back to protect their ride home.”
Phigby shrugs. “Perhaps.”
“It wouldn’t have to be much of an attack,” Alonya points out. “Just enough to get their attention, make them feel vulnerable.”
“Just after dark,” I state, “that’s when we hit them.”
“Just after dark,” Phigby nods in agreement, “but if the Wilders and drogs march on, we turn back and implement Hooper’s plan.” He glances around and after getting nods from the others, marches us back to our campsite.
Once back at camp I do a quick search for Scamper and find that he’s been true to his word and stayed close, though he’s quite miffed that I didn’t bring back more food. “I’m sure we’ll be fed at supper,” I remark. “In the meantime, I’m sure you can scrounge up something or other for your belly in this place.”
I make my way over to Golden Wind, slide down against one leg and sigh. “Troubled or just tired, Hooper?” she asks in a whisper.
“A bit of both,” I reply. “We have a drog and Wilder army marching this way, bent on destroying this valley and everything in it, most of all that wondrous tree.”
“And you fear,” Golden Wind replies, “that we and the Uhlan are not enough to prevent that from happening.”
“Let’s just say the odds aren’t with us. From what we know, it’s a pretty big army but we’re going to try and even the odds a bit and cut them down to size or even stop them by attacking the Sung Dar ships that carried them here. After dark.”
She chuckles softly. “Have the odds ever been with us, Hooper?”
“I would hope to think so. We’ve stayed alive this long, and kept you out of Vay’s claws.”
“Indeed. So it would seem that the odds have favored us from time to time.”
“And the other thing is that Bazy
l’s captured the dwarves, taken them somewhere north—to a mountain covered in snow and ice yet has ‘fire in its heart’—whatever that means.”
“I suppose we’ll find out what it means when we get there.”
“I guess so.” I glance up to find her peering at me with a peculiar expression. “You know something,” I state.
“I know a great many things, Hooper.”
“No, I mean about our situation here.”
“I know that the odds favored us in finding this valley and its hidden treasure.”
“That’s good, but what about—”
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
I slump down a little more, move my scabbard to one side and mumble, “Big help you are.”
“Get some rest, Hooper. From what you’ve told me, I suspect it’s going to be a long night.”
When I wake, from the lengthening shadows I can see that it’s late in the day. I stand, stretch, and look around, my eyes searching for a particular gray and brown fur ball. “Down by the pond,” Golden Wind whispers. “Fishing.”
“But of course,” I answer and note that it seems that all my companions still slumber. Hitching at my scabbard, I start to head toward the sparkly blue pond when I see someone walking among the trees. It’s Cara.
I hurry over to her. “Hey there. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Oh, I slept some, but it was the chanting that woke me. Do you hear it?”
I cock my head to one side and listen. For a moment, I don’t hear anything, then I catch a low, mellow sound that seems to drift among the grove of trees. “Yes, I do now.”
She takes my arm, pulls at me. “C’mon, it’ll be a while before the whole company is up. I want to see what’s making that sound.”
“You mean ‘who’ don’t you?”
She gives me an impish look. “Are you sure it’s a who? Might be some evil ogre who’s trying to lure us into its trap.”
“Oh, of course,” I agree. “Ogres are widely known for their melodious voices.”
Laughing lightly, she again pulls at me and together we tread farther into the stand, using the low chanting as our guide. We haven’t gone that far when we round two large trees and stop. Just ahead are Liam and a young Uhlan woman who holds a baby in swaddling clothing.
