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

by GARY DARBY

  The golden spins us upright and I immediately duck as several arrows split the air just above where my head was. I grab Scamper and push him under the golden’s carapace. Below us, it’s bedlam. Arrows arc up into the sky, while the frightened villagers rush about, screaming and yelling in panic at the sudden turn of events.

  The company comes roaring in and I yell above the shouts, “No dragon fire! No dragon fire!”

  Bows sing as our company’s archers unleash their bolts. Where they fly a longbowman goes down, a shaft embedded in his chest. “Golden Wind,” I order, “Wind Walker! Get me down there.”

  The golden whips around in a screaming turn and lands with a loud thump on the pavers. I slide off and hurry toward our big green. At a shout from Cara, I whip around to find three horsemen bearing down on me, their deadly javelins ready to run me through. A golden tail slices the air just over my head and catches the three armored riders. They careen through the air while their crazed, riderless horses thunder past.

  Total chaos reigns as frantic villagers run this way and that trying to get away from the fighting. A knot of villagers blocks me for an instant, but at the sight of Galondraig they spin around and run in the other opposite direction.

  I dart across the square and reach our emerald. With a roundhouse slash, I cut through the heavy ropes that bind Wind Walker’s mouth. “You sure have a knack for getting yourself tied down, you know.”

  His answer is an ear-splitting, thunderous roar to match the golden’s as I dash down his side, splitting the sturdy ropes with one swing of Galondraig after another. Before I reach the last of the lines, the emerald springs upright and snaps the remaining cords in half.

  He stands in the square, a magnificent emerald dragon unleashing a roar that seems to pulse through my body. He spins around, looking, growling, “Where is that son of the netherworld. The one who would dare bind me?”

  I twist my head this way and that before I spot him. The nobleman is shoving people left and right, sending them sprawling to the hard pavement. He screams for people to get out of his way while at the same time he’s calling for his guards to rally to him as he scurries toward his small castle.

  “There!” I shout. Wind Walker wings upward and then pounces like a cat upon a hapless mouse pinning the man between one set of talons. I run over and yell, “Hold him there, but don’t eat him!”

  The big man’s face jerks toward me, his eyes wide, his face draining of blood. I turn away, shielding my lop-sided grin from the man but in an instant my smile fades and the blood drains from my face.

  Two bowmen run up and leash their bolts straight at Marce and Borm. There’s nothing I can do, nothing anyone can do but Borm does the one thing that’s possible. He pushes Marce behind him. The arrows speed through the air and bury themselves deep into Borm’s chest.

  Without a sound but with agony etched on his face, the young Uhlan clutches at his chest and then crumples to the ground. I have no doubt he’s dead before his body hits the pavement.

  Marce’s scream of, “No!” echoes in the quad as I spin around and order, “Golden Wind! Forget what I said about dragon fire!”

  The golden’s tail whips through the air, impales the two archers. She rears back and unleashes her dragon breath. It’s a shaft of vengeful fire that catches the remaining ballistae and turns them into little more than bits of smoldering and charred wood while the crew runs away, screaming as they beat at the fire that’s consuming their clothing.

  The golden whirls again and this time her tail catches a phalanx of bowmen, sending them flying before they land with dull thuds on the square’s pavers.

  “Keep them busy!” I yell as I catch sight of Phigby, sword and bag in hand as he darts between villagers trying to reach Borm.

  The golden obliges with another roar and the other dragons join in. Their thunderous bellowing sends the last archers scurrying away.

  I grip Galondraig tighter and dash toward Marce and Borm but before I can reach them, three armored knights plant themselves in front of me. I catch the first of their powerful sword blows cleanly on Galondraig’s edge, but the jolt staggers me backward. They push their attack with another round of thrusts, which I parry, but they’re driving me back, away from Marce and Borm.

  The three swing their longswords back readying for another series of roundhouse blows. Galondraig goes up to block their efforts but before their blades reach mine, a giant sword and an ax catch their edges.

  Alonya jerks her head toward Borm. “Get over there!”

  “And quick like!” Amil adds as his ax slashes through the air sending one knight staggering backward from the punishing strike.

  I spin away and hurry over to where Phigby kneels beside Borm. Just as I arrive, he slowly pulls the arrows out, murmuring softly, “I’m sorry, Marce. The shafts went through his heart. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “No . . .” Marce moans and buries her head into Borm’s shoulder. I tap Phigby on the shoulder, hold Galondraig out with the gemstones showing. He shakes his head. “No lad, not even the wondrous power of your gemstones can bring the dead back to life.”

  Marce’s sobs wrench her body. She puts her lips to Borm’s cheek as her tears flow freely to wash his face.

  At a gentle touch on my elbow I turn to find Cara standing next to me. Her eyes glisten with tears as she whispers, “Is there nothing you can do?”

  “No,” I murmur back, “I’m afraid he’s gone.”

  I raise my head and look around. The fighting is all but over. Tavin on Blue Blood and Helmar on Wind Glory chase the few remaining mounted knights back to the castle while Amil and Alonya stand over the bodies of the three knights who attacked me. Otherwise, except for the company, the square is empty.

  As I gaze at the sobbing Marce, the anger I felt inside toward her and Borm melts away. I hesitate but then I go to her side and kneel, putting a hand on her back. I can feel her deep, throbbing moans through my fingers. “Marce, I am so sorry.”

  Slowly, she raises her head, strokes Borm’s face. “He protected me, stood in front of me when the fighting started.”

  She stops, draws in a ragged breath. “What have I done, Hooper? Why did I listen to my anger and not my heart? I knew what we were doing was wrong. We should have waited, heard the company out.”

  Her sobs come again, wracking her lithe body. After a moment, she wipes at her tears with one hand. “We were so afraid,” her voice quavers between her sobs, “that the company would just leave without—”

  “I know,” I answer, my own voice laden with sadness, “I know, and I’m so sorry for my harsh words to you. I was angry too. Angry in the wrong way.”

  Choking back her tears, she strokes Borm’s forehead. “I have to take him back, you know. I can’t just leave him here.” Her mouth works but no words come out until she sobs, “I have to carve his name on his tree.”

  Behind me, I can hear Cara crying softly and my own eyes well with stinging tears at Marce’s words.

  Phigby lets out a deep sigh. “I’ll go with you, my dear. Together, we’ll tell Ralos of his son’s bravery and to apologize on the company’s behalf for not bringing him back alive.”

  At the sharp sounds of voices raised in anger, I twist around to see Alonya and Amil standing over the prone nobleman. “Uh oh,” I murmur under my breath and with Cara running alongside, rush toward the angry duo.

  As we hurry up, Alonya has the point of her sword jabbed into the man’s neck. “I won’t ask again,” she hisses, “where did you get those ballistae?”

  The man’s terrified eyes flick this way and that, but he holds his tongue. I reach over, push Alonya’s sword away while whispering, “I have an idea that is a bit more persuasive than your sword.”

  Alonya’s jaw tightens and her neck muscles bulge but she slowly swings her sword away. I reach up and stroke Wind Walker’s neck scales. “My friend here hasn’t eaten today,” I growl to the nobleman, “and though he doesn’t particularly relish Drach flesh,
in your case, he’ll make an exception.”

  The more I talk the rounder the man’s eyes grow. “Now,” I continue, “I’m sure you noticed that Alonya here is a Golian Amazos and the reason she’s so angry is that it’s apparent several of your dragon-killers are from her domain.”

  I bend over, my face and voice hard. “Last chance to answer or I’ll have Wind Walker here pull you apart starting with your arms. Where did you get those ballistae?”

  For good measure, Wind Walker brings his other front talon over to grip the man’s right shoulder. “No!” the nobleman yelps. “Wait! I’ll tell you!”

  “We’re listening,” I growl.

  He licks dry lips. “It was the Sung Dar. A demon on an enormous black dragon appeared last moon cycle, told me to go to the coast.”

  His eyes turn angry for an instant as he snaps, “Emptied my treasury he did, to pay for those infernal machines! He said that for every four dragon horns I took to the coast he would give me a hundred ducats.”

  “A bounty on dragons?!” I snarl.

  “All but scarlets,” the man replies. “I was not to touch them.” His eyes flick toward Golden Wind. “Or the golden if she showed up. He said that if I captured her he would fill my treasury ten times over.”

  “Bazyl,” Amil growls.

  “No doubt of it,” Alonya answers, “and this filth threw his lot in with him.”

  “You would too, Golian,” the man snaps, “if you were face to face with a demon as he brought lightning and thunder down around your ears.”

  Alonya snorts. “Lightning and thunder? We not only have met that scum face to face and much worse than a few bolts of lightning.”

  I draw back, bringing the others with me. “Sorry, Alonya, but it looks like the Sung Dar took all of your ballistae and are now selling them.”

  “Filth!” Alonya spits. “They’ll pay for this, I swear.”

  “Yes, well,” I answer, and point to the helpless man. “What do we do with him now?”

  “His men killed Borm,” Alonya replies, her voice hard. “Maybe he needs to atone with his own.”

  “Line him up against that wall,” Amil asserts, “and let Marce put an arrow through his heart.”

  I shake my head slowly. “As tempting as that is, I can’t let us go down that path.”

  Raising my head, I stare toward the nobleman’s small castle. “Alonya,” I ask, “do you think Regal would have a good time knocking over some battlements and turrets?”

  Her grin is more of a leer. “He’s still a sprog at heart, you know. He’d love knocking down those walls.”

  “Then have at it,” I reply, sweeping an arm toward the castle, “but before you do, make sure everyone is out.”

  “I’m going with her,” Amil states. “I’ve got some mad I haven’t used up.”

  “Don’t we all,” I grunt and then point over to Helmar and Snag. “See if they want to help; knock it down faster.”

  “The more the merrier, I always say,” Amil replies, “when tearing apart a castle, block by block.”

  “But before you two go, help me with another little job,” I reply.

  To their raised eyebrows, I point to the nobleman. “Help me strip him of his armor.”

  “You know,” I spit out as we gather around the prone figure, “I really question why we call people like you ‘noblemen.’ There’s nothing noble about you or what you tried to do, so I’m reducing you in rank. No castle, no treasury, no horses, no men-at-arms, not even your armor.”

  I pat Wind Walker’s neck. “Let him up.” The big green roars one last time in the man’s face and then pulls back. Alonya reaches down, yanks him to his feet as if he weighed little more than a sack of flour. “Wha—what are you going tttto ddddo?” the man sputters.

  With Amil’s and Alonya’ help, we make short work of stripping the man of his armament. He stands in front of us in nothing but his thin undergarments and a suitable humiliated expression.

  I jab a finger toward one side where a narrow lane begins. “There’s the road out of town, I suggest you take it. Don’t stop, don’t look back. Who knows, there might be a very hungry and large green dragon following you.”

  Our vanquished opponent hesitates but only for an instant as Wind Walker thrusts his muzzle downward with his mouth wide open. The man shrieks and sprints off.

  Amil, watching him go, slowly shakes his head. “He should be glad you’re in charge, Hooper. I’m not sure I would’ve been so forgiving after what his men did to Borm. My ax might have slipped through my hands and found his neck.”

  “I’m not in charge,” I return, “and it wasn’t about forgiving. That road leads to another town. He won’t stop until he gets there and then he’ll spread the word about us.”

  Amil turns and gives me an appreciative smile. “Like I said, I’m glad you’re in charge. You think with your head, I think with my ax.”

  With that, the two jog over to their dragons as I mutter under my breath, “I’m not in charge.” I make my way over to where Phigby and Tavin gently wrap Borm in a sheet they’re using as a burial shroud.

  “I’ll carry him on Bold Wind,” Phigby offers, “it’ll be easier.” With that he bobs his head toward Tavin and Snag and together they carry him toward Bold Wind. Phigby turns back to Marce. “Will you be all right on Wind Walker?”

  “Yes,” she answers, her voice low and her eyes near leaving Borm’s body. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Are you sure?” Cara asks gently. She, Pim, and Talia surround Marce, offering what comfort they can, their faces sad and understanding.

  Just then, there is a thundering crack that causes us to jerk our heads up. Splintered stone blocks tumble down from one of the turrets. Regal Wind is ripping, tearing at the castle’s towers and they fall apart one by one. Next come the battlement walls and with Wind Glow’s help and a good blast of dragon fire the walls begin to cave in.

  Helmar joins in with Wind Glory while Snag on Wind Strider and Tavin on Blue Blood rush up. The pixies on their sprites join in, adding their fire to the growing fiery maelstrom.

  It doesn’t take them long to reduce the small citadel to a few heaps of broken, seared stone blocks while swirling clouds of gray-white dust and glowing embers rise into the air. Flames engulf one portion of the destroyed keep while those who had a hand in bringing it down circle overhead as if looking to see if they can flatten the castle still more.

  “Why did I ever leave Nervan?” Marce whispers to no one in particular. “What made me think that there was something better out here just waiting for discovery? Now, if I ever make it back home, the only real thing I will have discovered is what it means to have a broken heart.”

  She hangs her head, brings a hand up to her mouth to hold back the sobs. “First, Rollo, and now Borm. Am I cursed? Is this the way my life is to go?”

  I glance at Cara, whose face is contorted in pain. She meets my eyes, holds them for a moment as I can’t help but think that either one of us could ask the same question. Marce turns to Cara. “How do you deal with the hurt? The pain? I feel like my heart is ripping apart.”

  Cara doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes Marce in her arms, holds her tight for a moment before stepping back. “Marce, I’m not sure I’m the one you should be asking as I’m not very good with words.”

  She hesitates for a moment and then says, “But it just seems the one thing I’ve learned from being in this company, with these people, is that no one ever gets to go through life without experiencing a broken heart.”

  Cara gives me a quick glance. “Sometimes more than once. How do you deal with it? For me, I just know that my loved ones would want me to go on living and live my life to its fullest. And . . . I know that they want me to know happiness too, even after something terrible like this happens.”

  Marce nods slowly. “I hurt so bad after Rollo’s death, but this—this is so much more.”

  I don’t know what made me speak up, but I say, “The greater t
he love, the greater the pain when it’s taken away.”

  Cara stares at me a moment before she nods slowly. “How true.”

  She turns back to Marce. “You’ll never forget Borm, but never forget that he would want you to fill your heart with love again—someday.”

  Phigby clears his throat and gestures toward the waiting dragons. “It appears we’re done here and we best be going.”

  Marce nods and with Cara, Pim, and Talia around her, slowly makes her way over to Wind Walker.

  After watching them go, I turn to Phigby. “I understand why you and Marce need to return to Hidden Haven, but I’m uncomfortable in taking the whole company back.”

  “Which is why you won’t,” Phigby answers. “We don’t need to go any further eastward. What’s done is done and between that yapping lord and the villagers, Vay will learn soon enough of our presence here.

  “So, take the company due north of here. Find a suitable place to hide. Tonight, late, Marce and I will sky out of the valley. We’ll use this town as our beacon and once here turn north ourselves. Come first daylight when it’s light enough to see, send Regal Wind up. We should be able to see him from a great distance—”

  “You and everyone else,” I respond.

  “Yes, well, better him than the sprites’ glow during the night, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so,” I sigh. I lean a little closer. “Phigby, you two be careful back there. We’ve caused enough heartache for the Uhlan and now this.”

  “I know lad, trust me, I know.” His face turns hard. “But it’s not the Uhlan that worry me.”

  “Bazyl,” I state.

  “Indeed. That Vay has brought him and the Sung Dar, along with her other minions to these lands tells me—”

  “That she’s gathering her forces.”

  He reaches out a hand to grip my shoulder. “Which means, Hooper Menvoran, that it is imperative that we destroy her portal.”

  Leaning even closer, his eyes seem to hold me and his grip tightens. “When the time comes we do what must be done—no matter the cost, Hooper, no matter the cost!”