On Wings of Thunder (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 3)

by GARY DARBY

She troops away, leaving me alone with Cara. She on one side of Alonya’s cape and me on the other. “You heard her, Hooper, do I call Alonya back and have her strip off your clothes? Or, do you do it yourself?”

  I hesitate but then she calls out, “Last chance. Let’s have them, Hooper.”

  Grumbling to myself, I take out the gemstones, careful to set them on a flat rock and then I pull off my tunic, pants, underclothes, and then my sheepskin boots.

  Tossing all of them over the cape, I ask, “Want the soap, too?”

  “No thanks,” she answers. “Phigby gave me a bar. I suggest you use yours with gusto.”

  I go back to scrubbing and splashing off the slime. After a bit, I set the soap next to the jewels. I’m cold but not so cold that I can’t do what needs to be done. “Cara?”

  “Yes, Hooper?”

  “I feel really silly and dumb sitting here completely naked, my teeth chattering, smelling of dragon blood, covered in lye soap, and this is not how I wanted this to be when I, well, I wanted it to be someplace a bit more special with just the two—”

  “Hooper,” Cara’s voice is firm, “not only are your teeth chattering but you’re jabbering, too. Is there something you want to say?”

  “Yes, I'm trying to tell you how incredibly sorry I am. I was so wrong about everything I said and did and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  “With all my heart, I apologize and not only that, I’m a lousy lout, too.”

  She still doesn’t speak.

  “Plus, I’m an oaf.”

  Silence.

  “And a fool.”

  Still nothing.

  “Cara? Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” she growls. “But after what you said to me, you’ve got a long ways to go yet.”

  “Hey, I said I was an oaf and a lout.”

  “Uh, huh,” she grumbles, “well, I can think of a lot more names.”

  “Cara, you can call me anything you want and I’m sure that every one of them would fit. I—am—so—sorry.”

  “You said I was a little girl.”

  “Anybody who takes one look at you would know that’s an ignorant statement. You’re not a little girl either in body or mind.”

  “You said I was only interested in being a high-born snob.”

  “Take a look around. Does this look like someone who’s out to become royalty? You sleep on the hard, cold ground. You’re half-starved. You’ve suffered more indignities in these last few days than most people do their whole lives.

  “This isn’t exactly how one becomes high-born, you know. But in every way I know, Cara, you’re as high-born as they come and I mean that in the best way.”

  “Really?” she sniffs.

  “Really.”

  She’s quiet for a few moments more before muttering, “You said I was only interested in people for what they could do for me.”

  “Says the girl who’s knee deep in freezing water washing my stinking, scummy clothes.”

  “So—I want to replace Vay, do I?”

  Sighing, I hang my head. “No, Cara, you could never replace Vay. That, was the dumbest, stupidest, most idiotic statement I’ve ever made in my entire life. You have too much good, too much beauty, inside and out to ever be a Vay.

  “Me? Yes. I have enough meanness, enough ugly, enough anger to be like her, but never, ever, you.”

  I take in a deep breath. “I was so wrong in everything I said, Cara. I was mad at Helmar for what he said and I took it out on you. I was stupid, wrong, foreverly, stupidly wrong.”

  She’s quiet for a long time and then I hear quiet crying. “Cara?”

  No answer. “Cara?”

  Sniffling, she replies, “No, Hooper, you weren’t completely wrong in everything you said.”

  I can hear her take a shuddering breath. “You were right when you stated that I turned my back on you after it was evident that you were the Gem Guardian, and not Helmar.”

  I can’t see her, but I can hear the crying in her voice. “Yes, I’ve liked Helmar ever since he came to Draconstead, but not like you think. We’re friends and rivals, nothing more.”

  “Friends I understand, but rivals?”

  “Call it friendly rivals. In archery and as hunters. The truth is, no one can compete with either one of us, so we compete against each other, like when I took down those two mountain sheep before he could even get a shot off.”

  “Friendly rivals and nothing more?”

  “Nothing more, Hooper.”

  “Then, why were you—”

  “So upset when it became apparent that Helmar was not the Gem Guardian?”

  “Yes.”

  She’s silent for some time before asking, “Do you know how Helmar came to be at Draconstead?”

  “Sure,” I answer. “He was second-born and his father took his firstborn son as his apprentice. Helmar needed to find work.”

  “Yes,” she sighs, “but there was a bit more to it than that. You see, Helmar’s father was going to sell Helmar to the Jade Knives.”

  “What?! No . . .”

  “Yes.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. Helmar has his faults, who hasn’t, but a Jade Knife? Helmar is no assassin, or thief, or highwayman, or dealer in slaves, just to name a few of their atrocities.

  Not Helmar.

  “But why?”

  “Helmar’s family was very, very poor, Hooper,” Cara explains. “So much so that there wasn’t enough money to buy the leather Helmar’s father needed to make his wares.”

  “And selling Helmar would get the money they needed,” I respond.

  I can hear Cara take in a deep, deep breath and say so softly that I have to lean toward the curtain to hear her. “Helmar’s family lived in the village of Tall Stones. That’s far up the river from Draconton, on the very edge of the Lorell holdings.

  “Somehow, and I don’t know how, my father found out about Helmar. He convinced Lord Lorell to let Helmar come and work at Draconstead. Only, on the very morning that Helmar set out for Draconstead, unbeknownst to him, his family sold his younger sister to the slavers.”

  I’m speechless. My mouth just hangs open. The water is cold, yes, but what Cara just said turns me colder than ice on the inside.

  “I’ve heard the rumors,” I mumble, “but I never actually thought they were true.”

  “They’re true, Hooper,” Cara says, her voice sad and soft. “It doesn’t happen very often in the Northern Kingdom, thank goodness, but it does occur.”

  I grow silent, waiting for Cara as I feel there’s more to the story. I can hear her take a another deep breath. “Helmar didn’t find out about it until a few months later. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his sister, a year younger than he, in the Jades’ hands.

  “So, he went to my father with a proposal. He would work for free, for the remainder of his days, just food and a place to sleep, if Lord Lorell would buy his sister back.”

  It’s my turn to draw in a deep breath. “Just food and a place to sleep,” I breathe out. “Like me.”

  “Yes,” she replies.

  “I hope that Lord Lorell accepted his offer.”

  Cara’s long silence is enough to cause me to slump further into the water. “He didn’t,” I state.

  Then, in a whisper, I say, “So you and he thought that the gemstone would provide a way for Helmar to rescue his sister.”

  “After,” she says in a pointed manner, “we did what we had to do for Golden Wind. Helmar was firm on that. It tore him up inside knowing that his sister was in the hands of those vile people, but he knew how supremely important Golden Wind is to all of Erdron.”

  I let out a long breath. “You talked about it? I mean, him using the dragon jewel to save his sister.”

  “Yes,” she replies and then in a halting voice says, “he had such high hopes. Rescue his sister, help his family—but more than anything to get his sister from the Jades’ clutches.”

&
nbsp; “And I took all that away from him. That’s why you were so upset with me.”

  She’s quiet for a moment before answering, “Yes, I was upset, and mad, and heart-broken for Helmar. But it wasn’t anything that you did and I shouldn’t have been angry at you. After all, you didn’t choose you to be the Gem Guardian.”

  I sit with my hands on my knees, staring at my reflection in the clear water. I don’t like what I see. Not even a little bit.

  “Cara?”

  “Yes?”

  “All those names you could think of calling me?”

  “Yes?”

  “They’re not enough. You need to add more to the list. It’s way too short.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  My soppy clothes and boots sail over the curtain. Cara’s aim is perfect. It wasn’t a good time for me to have my mouth open.

  Spitting, I pull my pants off my face and head. “Hey, I said I was sorry and you could call me anything you want and I’d agree.”

  “I know,” she calls back over the screen, “but I’ve still got some mad in me that I haven’t used up yet.”

  And then, “Hooper, hurry and get dressed, we’ve been out in the open too long. And bring Alonya’s cape with you, I’m going back to camp.”

  “Cara,” I call out.

  “Yes, Hooper?”

  “Thank you for telling me about Helmar.”

  She’s slow to answer. “Hooper, I’m not sure how Helmar will feel if he knows that I told you about him and his sister. So, maybe—”

  “I get it,” I reply. “Trust me, I won’t bring it up unless he does.”

  “Good,” she replies. “See you back in camp.”

  “And Cara, thanks for washing my clothes.”

  “Welcome.”

  It’s a soggy walk back to camp, my feet squishing inside my boots, but at least no one orders me to stand downwind. In fact, they’ve got all the dragons sleeping and bunched against the hill, pretending to be boulders in the dark shadows.

  Next to the jagged hillside and hidden by the dozing dragons, Dazzle is flaming low, a welcome fire to everyone, especially me.

  “Come, lad,” Phigby gestures to me, “warm yourself up.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble as I hand Alonya her royal purple cape. Self-conscious, I sit by myself, a little apart from the others but close to Dazzle.

  Dazzle’s fire is small, but warm, and it’s not long before my clothes start to steam a bit. “While you were getting cleaned up,” Phigby explains in a concerned tone, “we were discussing the appearance of that Wilder.

  “That he could get so close to us, unseen, is . . .” Phigby hesitates, “troubling.”

  “Not to mention,” Amil rumbles, “if he was able to alert any other Wilders to our whereabouts.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” I respond, “how could he have done that and still—”

  “Attack you?” Alonya questions. “That’s because,” she goes on to explain, “we assumed there was only the one, whereas there may have actually been more.”

  “If,” Phigby returns, “there were, then it stands to reason that—”

  “Some would have kept tabs on us,” I breathe, “while the others—”

  “Alerted their friends,” Cara finishes for me.

  “But,” Helmar argues and turns to Alonya, “that would have taken time, would it not? They couldn’t fly straight over these mountains. They’re too high for dragons.”

  “Yes,” Alonya agrees with a nod, “that is true. We know that there are Wilders in South Pass. To get there through these mountains, even for a dragon, would take some time. It would be a circuitous route at best, there and back.”

  “So,” Phigby asks, slapping at his knees, “the question then, assuming that the Wilders will be making for this valley pass, what do we do about it?”

  “Can we chance staying on this trail,” Amil questions, turning to Alonya, “or do we find a new way down into the lowlands?”

  I too turn to Alonya. “Is there another way from here?”

  Her eyes are centered on Dazzle as if she’s thinking. When she answers, there’s a bleakness in her eyes. “Yes, but it is not the way I intended for us to go. In fact, I chose this trail just so that we could avoid it.”

  She grimaces. “Now we may have no other choice.”

  Her somber tone causes me to flick my eyes among my companions’ grim faces. “But,” I point out, “we actually don’t know if there was more than one Wilder. There could have been only the one.”

  “That’s true, Hooper,” Phigby assents, “but what if our assumption is wrong and there were two or even more? That could prove to be a fatal guess on our part.”

  “Yes,” Helmar rumbles, “I agree. My instincts tell me that we may have seen only the one in the clouds but there were more scouting in those passes and the Wilder that attacked Hooper was part of the group.”

  “And did so,” Amil acknowledges, “knowing that there were more of his filthy kind on the way.”

  “If that’s the case,” Cara questions, “why did he go after Hooper? Why not wait and alert the others where we were?”

  “Fame and fortune, my dear,” Phigby sighs, “Fame and fortune.”

  He turns grim eyes on me. “In Vay’s circles, Hooper is a marked man. I would venture to guess that the bounty on his head is quite large.”

  Half in jest, I ask, “More than my body weight in silver? That’s all Aster was offering for me.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, Hooper,” Phigby returns, “I would venture to guess it’s much, much more than that, now.”

  Amil’s grin is playful. “At least three times your weight.”

  “Thanks,” I grunt, “that makes me feel sooo much better.”

  “The question, then,” Cara asks quietly, “is how far away are the rest of the Wilders and how long would it take for them to get back here?”

  “A question,” Alonya acknowledges, “which we have no way to answer.”

  “It is in my mind,” Phigby rumbles, “that we should rest a short bit and then strike out. We will all move swifter after a little rest.”

  “But to which trail?” Amil asks.

  No one speaks until Phigby rises and says, “I will stand watch while the rest of you get some sleep. We will make that decision once I wake you.”

  I’m the last to rise as there’s something I must do and it’s not to sleep.

  Helmar has strode off the short distance to be near his dragon. As I walk up, he has his back to me as he slips off his bow.

  “Helmar?”

  He jerks his head to stare at me over his shoulder before he turns and faces me. His eyes and face are as hard as the boulders strewn about the hillside.

  “Helmar,” I hasten to explain with raised hands, “I’m not here to continue our argument. What I am here to do is to ask you a question. Are our personal differences more important than what happens to Golden Wind? What happens to Erdron?”

  His eyes turn icy hard for a moment before they soften and he mumbles, “No, of course not.”

  “I agree,” I respond. “And that’s all I have to say.”

  With that, I stride away and make my way over to Golden Wind. Most of the company beds close to Dazzle, except Phigby, who’s stepped outside the semicircle of dragons and now paces outside it.

  Stepping to the golden’s far side where I can’t be seen or heard, I murmur, “Scamper?”

  “Hunting,” the golden whispers, “up in the higher rocks.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper back and settle down beside her.

  “Your talk with Cara, better now?”

  “Better,” I answer.

  “And Helmar?”

  “We agreed that there are more important things than jealousy,” I answer and then ask, “Golden Wind, did the sprites tell you if there was more than one Wilder on our back trail? If there was, we may have to take a different path.”

  She opens an eye, peers upward. “It would be wise if
we did and soon.”

  “That’s all I need to know,” I answer. “I’ve got to let Phigby know.”

  “And how would you explain,” the golden asks, “what and how you know?”

  “I—” begin and stop in midthought. “Uh, I’ll just say I think it’s better if we go a different way.”

  “To which he’ll ask why,” she states, “and you’ll say . . .?”

  “I’ll say . . .” I groan, “that I need to get some sleep and tell him later.”

  “Good idea,” she acknowledges. “Now, rest. We’ll be on the trail all too soon.”

  It is all too soon when there’s a soft tap on my shoulder accompanied by a gentle voice. “It’s time, Hooper. Up you go.”

  Blinking my eyes awake, I stare up at a lovely, smiling face. “Hey,” I say and then suspiciously ask, “uh, you didn’t wake me up to just to get rid of some more of that mad of yours, did you?”

  She smiles a bit wider. “No, Hooper. I’ll play fair and not hit someone who’s still half-asleep and lying on the ground. I’ll let you come fully awake before I thump you a good one.”

  “Thanks,” I smile in return and pretend to go back to sleep.

  She laughs and pulls me to my feet. Cocking her head to one side, she hooks a thumb toward where Phigby’s standing. “C’mon, Phigby is calling us together.”

  I take a quick glance around, to which Cara points toward Golden Wind’s head. “Scamper and the sprogs are napping between her legs.”

  Giving her a grateful smile, I say, “Thanks. He’s been avoiding me ever since I got gooped all over.”

  “Who hasn’t?” she chuckles and makes her way over to the circle.

  As I join in, I’m trying to decide what to offer that will convince the others that we need to make for a different trail when Phigby declares, “I believe we should not remain on this path. The risks are too high.”

  He looks Alonya’s way. “If you had to decide between the Wilders finding us here or of us taking this other pathway of yours, which would you choose?”

  Running fingers over her pursed lips, she replies, “There is no lesser of two evils here, Phigby, if that is what you are asking. They are both bad enough in their own way. But, like you, I too am convinced that we might see Wilders soon enough if we continue along this trailway, though I am loathe to take the path that leads to Woesome Woods.”