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

by GARY DARBY

  “Safe? Yes. You drew off all the wartheads, now we’ll lead them further along and then head back.”

  We’re not that high off the ground and for a sapphire, Wind Song is lazing along, just fast enough to stay ahead of the crazed throng behind us.

  I hear a second set of dragon wings and turn to see Golden Wind matching Wind Song, wingbeat for wingbeat. I call over, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Hooper,” she answers, “thanks to you three. And you?”

  “Just great,” I call back. “Wind Song taught me a different way to ride a dragon’s tail. I’ve learned something new about dragons today, after all.”

  Her answer is a smile. I can hear the sprogs loud screeping, so I say, “Sounds like the sprogs are good.”

  “They are,” she answers. “Noisy as usual.”

  “As usual,” I answer and call out, “Scamper?”

  Hearing his name, the little tub perks his head up and starts chittering at me. I hold up a hand to stop him. “Had to,” I answer, “or you would be in a troll stew pot about now.”

  That quiets him down.

  I point down to where the cut rope streams behind Golden Wind. “We’ll have to land and get that off her.”

  “Let’s wait until we join the rest of the troop,” Cara replies over her shoulder. “We’ve reached a dead end and need to turn.”

  I glance ahead and in the moonlight, see where the valley is ringed on three sides by mountains. We’ve gone as far as we can.

  At Cara’s command, Wind Song spurts upward and turns back down the valley, followed by Golden Wind.

  As we sail high and fast over the angry trolls and ogres I mutter to Cara, “I sure wish we could unleash some dragon fire on that band, might save us a fight later.”

  “Me too,” she answers.

  We sail on a bit further, Cara’s lush hair whips against my face, but I don’t mind a bit. “Sort of reminds me of that first skyride we took from Draconstead down to Draconton.”

  “Really? I don’t recall being chased by a crazy, howling mob of trolls and ogres out for blood.”

  I laugh. “Right. As I remember, the only thing you were afraid of was being seen alone with me at night and without a suitable chaperone, and I feared falling off Wind Song.”

  She asks slowly, “Are you still afraid of falling off?”

  “Uh, huh. I’m even afraid when I’m on Golden Wind.”

  She’s silent for a moment, before saying, “Then maybe you should wrap your arms around me, tight, just in case.”

  My smile is as big as the mountains on either side of us as I slide my arms around her waist and hold on tight.

  Just in case I might fall off, of course.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Reaching the easterly leading valley, Cara has Wind Song do a low, arcing turn as we search for our missing friends, hoping all the while that they escaped the trolls and haven’t fallen into the fiend’s foul hands.

  Studying the moonlit ground, I mutter to Cara, “The moons haven’t gotten high enough to cast light down there. I can’t see a thing, not even Wind Glory. You don’t think they ran into another band of ogres and trolls, do you?”

  “I try not to think about such things,” she replies. “They’re down there, we just have to find them, that’s all.”

  Cara has Wind Song drop even lower and slows her down. Just then, Golden Wind shoots ahead. Cara motions toward the golden. “We may not be able to see them, but I think Golden Wind does.”

  She points ahead at where a craggy shoulder of one mountain juts out into the valley. “They must be just past that rise.”

  We swoop over the jagged hill and drop down on the other side. The barrenness of the high mountain dells has started to give way to waist-high bushes and short grasses that creep up the hillside.

  Golden Wind lands and turns her head toward the slope that’s draped in blackness. Cara has Wind Song set down next to the golden, and with anxious eyes we peer at the hillock but don’t speak, unsure of what lies in the darkness.

  A moment later, from the dark, Alonya appears, and both Cara and I let out the breaths that we have been holding.

  I slide off Wind Song, and Cara follows right behind. Phigby, Amil, and Helmar leading Wind Glory join us, and Helmar is the first to speak. “Cara, are you all right? That wasn’t real smart going off like that.”

  I can feel the hot retort coming from Cara, so I hasten to say, “She saved me, Helmar, and led the trolls and ogres further down the valley.”

  “Still—”

  “Still,” Phigby interrupts, “let’s have this discussion later. I suggest we put more distance between us and those vermin.”

  “To that, I readily agree,” Alonya responds.

  “And I,” Amil chimes in.

  Without a word, Cara spins on her heel and marches back to Wind Song. I give Helmar a wide berth and scoot over to Golden Wind.

  Scamper is waiting for me, flicking his tail back and forth and I can tell he’s agitated. I knuckle his head while saying, “I’m good, Scamp, honest.”

  Grinning wide, I whisper, “The skyride back was almost worth getting killed, but don’t ask me to jump off Golden Wind again anytime soon.”

  Taking my sword, I cut through the rope entwined around the golden’s talon and toss it and the heavy metal balls aside.

  Once everyone is up on their dragons, we bring them close to Alonya, and she gestures toward the narrow vale’s center. “The watercourse is but a bog full of mud and unfit to drink. If you get thirsty and need to slake your thirst, chew on your tongue.”

  Chew on your tongue? I think. I bite down several times, but I’m unsure just how that’s supposed to ease my thirst.

  I’m so intent on my tongue that I almost miss what Alonya says next. “—runs the valley’s length but it will soon be bathed in moonlight. We’ll follow close to this hill and stay in the darkness for as long as we can. We need to move fast as that scum will be skulking behind us soon enough. No talking and stay alert.”

  With Alonya in the lead and me and Golden Wind at the tail end, we move off.

  Alonya is true to her word and pushes herself and the dragons through the night, not stopping until the first faint glow of sunrise lightens the high hills and small mountains ahead of us.

  Alonya calls us to a halt. “If the sky is clear we’ll rest here before moving on.”

  Each of us has been dividing our time between watching the trail ahead and behind, as well as the black sky above, watching for Wilder wings that would blank out the stars, or the black blobs scurrying along the ground that would mark the trolls.

  Now, we all raise our eyes to the brightening sky. A black speck high in the air jerks me upright. “Wilder!”

  Everyone whirls to where I’m pointing and Cara and Helmar whip their bows up, arrows notched. Just as they do, Alonya holds up a hand and orders, “Hold!”

  She turns to me with a faint smile. “You have excellent eyesight, Hooper. Well done in spotting a circling buzzard.”

  I feel a warmth creep up my neck as Amil lets out a nervous laugh while Phigby chuckles. “Well, for what it’s worth, Hooper, there are some similarities between vultures and Wilders, just on a smaller scale.”

  Phigby turns to Alonya. “Water?”

  “None here,” she answers. “The closest is still a day's march or more. And even then I wouldn’t have us slake our thirst unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  Her words are ominous, and I want to ask why but after my false scare I keep my mouth shut. Amil voices the question, though. “No doubt, the next water lies within Woesome Woods?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Alonya returns. “I know of no other closer and to push around that foul forest adds days to our travels. Not to mention there’s little cover to conceal us.”

  Phigby turns to Amil. “Did, by chance, your fellow Traveler mention anything about water or a way around the woods?”

  “Jessa?” Amil lets out in a sigh. “No, and she�
��s not known for being quiet but quite the opposite. Only, when she mentioned those woodlands it was with few and hard words and a warning to steer clear of them.”

  “Lovely,” Cara returns holding up an empty water flask. “Does anyone have any water left?”

  In answer, we all shake our heads.

  “Alonya,” Helmar asks, “just what is about these woods that we should fear? Something akin to more mountain spirits?”

  Alonya shakes her head. “I cannot put a name to them and neither could Fotina.”

  Hesitating, she then adds, “It would be best if we spoke of this later in broad daylight for the night often tricks the mind into thinking that there is more than what is actually there. Especially, a tired mind.”

  She turns and points up at the crest of a high knoll. “Besides, I need to climb that so that I can sight down the valley and see whether our pursuers close on us.”

  “Do you think they would be this close already?” Amil questions.

  Alonya shrugs. “Perhaps not. However, a sharp whip can drive even the most exhausted beast to greater effort.”

  She unlimbers her bow and adjusts the quiver on her back. “Make camp and set a watch while you sleep but all of you be ready to go at an instant’s notice.” With that, she lumbers off to begin her climb.

  After we climb down off our dragons, I volunteer, “I’ll take the first watch.”

  Amil comes over, puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Just be sure if you do have to sound the alarm it’s really a Wilder and not a bunch of harmless buzzards circling over our heads.”

  “I’d say if we have vultures circling overhead,” Phigby rasps, “we may have more trouble than we supposed.”

  We lead the dragons closer to the hill’s base and settle them among the tallest and thickest bushes and grass that we can find.

  I frown at Phigby. “In the dark, they look like lumpy boulders but come daylight, that’s not going to hold true.”

  Sweeping my hand at the scraggly brush in which the dragons have settled, I say, “Not in this.”

  He shrugs in answer. “For now, it’s the best we can do, Hooper.”

  My hand goes to the dragon jewels, and I finger the emerald. Phigby eyes me and whispers, “Only if we absolutely have to, lad. Anything you could conjure up could end up looking very out of place here—”

  “And would cause Wilder eyes to investigate,” I reply in understanding.

  “Not just Wilder eyes,” he points out, “but someone else’s eyes search, as well.” With that, he walks off to find a place to bed down.

  Cara and I unload the sprogs and to my relief, they decide to stick close to the golden and not wander away.

  Scamper, as usual, sets off on his own in search of food. The dragons take a few bites of shrubs and grass and then close their eyes in sleep.

  Soon, everyone is asleep except for me as I do a slow patrol on the outer edges of our little camp, Galondraig in hand and my eyes flicking from the sky to the surrounding hills and valley.

  The sun is but two-fingers high over the knoll’s ridge when I hear a scattering of rocks and whirl to find Alonya descending from her perch. That she moves slowly and not in haste is an excellent sign. “I take it you didn’t spot them?”

  She shakes her head. “No, and I was able to see far up the valley. We have at least until sun-high of respite before we have to march again.”

  “You should get some rest until then,” I encourage. “We’ll watch over the camp and wake you at midday.”

  She stretches her shoulders and rubs the back of her neck before she gives me a smile in gratitude. “A good warrior never disobeys her general’s orders.”

  Turning, she slips past the dragons leaving me to snort, “General? Huh. Not in this lifetime, Hooper.”

  The sun is overhead when Amil wakes Alonya and the rest of us. We rub sleep out of our eyes and unlimber tired and sore bodies as we gather around Alonya.

  She motions down the valley. “We follow this before it bends southward. I suggest that while I keep an eye on the trail ahead, the rest of you should set your sights on the heights above and the valley behind us.”

  “Good advice,” Phigby acknowledges, and moments later, we’re off again.

  Scamper decides that instead of riding, he’s going to run alongside our little caravan. While we turn our eyes skyward in fear of seeing Wilder dragons, he keeps his nose to the ground, hoping that he might find something tasty to eat.

  It would be easier going in the valley’s middle where it’s more open, but Alonya keeps us close to the hills, which offer a little protection from being sighted from above.

  As the valley broadens, Scamper grows tired of his quest for food and joins me on the golden. “No luck, huh?” I ask.

  He taps his teeth at me in frustration before turning to take his place, paws on the golden’s skull sheath and nose pointed forward as if he were guiding Golden Wind and not me.

  The afternoon passes without incident and soon enough, the sun begins to slide behind the higher peaks. Long shadows, like jagged spears, start to lengthen across the valley floor.

  Up ahead, I can see where this valley starts to bend away from our easterly heading. I glance back to where the High Denalians’ sharp mountain peaks are beginning to fade behind a range of lower mountains and tall hills.

  I begin to turn my head back when I swivel in my seat and snap my head up. This time, there’s no question, and I shout, “Wilders, behind us! And no, I’m not seeing vultures!”

  Ahead, Amil yells out to Alonya, “Wilders behind us!” and points skyward.

  As Alonya pounds back up the track, Helmar spurs Wind Glory off to one side. “Into the shadows!” Phigby roars.

  Cara pulls Wind Song behind Glory and the golden follows right behind her. Within a few strides, we go from the shadow’s edge into dark shade. Alonya rushes up and orders, “Get the dragons on their bellies, as low as they can go!”

  I jump from Golden Wind just as she plops to her stomach and stretches out her head and neck to lie as flat as she can.

  It’s our hope that from a distance, in the shadows, she and the other dragons will look like big boulders or mounds of dirt. I scoot to kneel just beside her head and peer behind us.

  Winging over the high hills that we passed at midafternoon is a small flight of Wilder reds, no more than three. Amil grunts and calls over to me, “Good job, Hooper. If you hadn’t seen them first, they would’ve caught us in the open for sure.”

  “Thanks,” I answer over my shoulder. “But I agree with Phigby, the only difference between them and real buzzards is that they’re bigger.”

  “North,” I hear Helmar state. “They’re headed north. Just like that demon.”

  “And in one big hurry, too,” Amil replies.

  Alonya, who had stretched out flat on the ground behind a scraggly bush, raises a head to watch the skying Wilder troop. “If they had seen us, I’m sure they would have turned.”

  Phigby, who kneels close to me, pulls at his beard, his bushy eyebrows furrowed deep. “They certainly are in a hurry, they’re pushing their dragons hard. If they were searching for us, you’d think that they would be more spread out, and winging slowly and low over the ground.”

  He scratches at his cheek and muses, “They act as if they need to be somewhere very soon.”

  “Yes,” Amil replies, “and I wonder where that somewhere might be?”

  “Alonya,” Phigby calls over, “could they be making for your northern redoubts?”

  Alonya is slow to answer as if she’s considering Phigby’s question. “If they are,” she replies, “they’re certainly taking the long way around.”

  “South Pass faster?” Cara questions.

  “That,” Alonya nods, “and several others, such as the Colosseun Barrier Way are an easier, quicker path.”

  She takes in a breath, and there is a tinge of bitterness in her voice. “Or, use the sea route across Dronopolis before turning northward
.”

  Frowning, she goes on. “No, our strongholds are set deep against mountains too high for dragons to pass over from here. The only other passes that they would have to take to reach them are much, much farther north.”

  No one speaks for several moments, each remembering the devastation of Dronopolis under the Wilder horde’s onslaught.

  Cara breaks the silence by asking, “So, it’s possible those are the ones alerted to our presence here and they think we’ve headed north?”

  She swings her head to where Phigby kneels next to me. “Do we dare go on? There may be others following them.”

  “That there are others, we can be sure of,” Phigby replies. “The question is whether from this point on, dare we travel by day, or would it be best to journey by night?”

  The Wilders disappear from our view and we all stand. Alonya gestures down the trail to where it curves around a hill’s jutting shoulder. “This is where the vale turns southward and leads us to the Woesome Woods.”

  “Woesome Woods,” I mutter. “Sounds too much like the forest around Logath’s Cave.”

  Alonya nods in response. “The woods are a northern arm of those same tree stands.”

  Raising a hand to gesture at where the Wilder flight disappeared, she says, “If there is anything good to say about it, it is that the woodland trees are thick enough that it will be hard for anyone to see us from above.”

  She pauses and her voice turns grim. “But it is not a place that I would care to be at night. I have traveled there only once, and that was in full daylight. Even then, I moved as fast as my legs could carry me.”

  “Forgive my impudence,” Amil asks with a puzzled frown, “but what did you see that would cause a Golian Amazos to be so fearful?”

  Alonya shakes her head in answer. “It wasn’t so much seeing as feeling. Shadows where shadows shouldn’t be, without shape—without form. The rustling of tree leaves when there wasn’t any wind. Voices when there wasn’t anyone to speak.”

  “More Jallhugr?” Cara questions Phigby with a catch in her voice.

  “No,” Phigby states. “Alonya said she crossed it during the day. Remember those foul things can’t stand the daylight and stay in the mountains. No, I’m afraid that Alonya’s whispers were made by something else. But what, is the question.”