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

  WINGS OF FIRE

  BY

  GARY J. DARBY

  BOOK SEVEN

  IN THE LEGEND OF HOOPER’S DRAGONS

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER ONE

  Our farewells to the MerDraken are brief, heartfelt, and somber. Brief, in that it is hard to leave newfound friends but with the three sisters’ commands still fresh in our minds we feel the necessity to wing swiftly eastward without undue delay.

  For me, yes, there is a feeling of urgency to be aloft but there is also the thought of what lies to the east? Additional friends? Perhaps. Danger, with Vay stalking us the whole way just waiting to strike and deal a deathblow? Undoubtedly.

  Our hurried goodbyes are warm but subdued as we know how much suffering and loss the MerDraken have incurred as a result of their valor in the sea battle. It is obvious and painful as we say our goodbyes that there are few MerDraken families whose faces are not grief-stricken or streaked with tears of mourning.

  It is unfortunate that we can’t stay longer but time is not our ally. Or, as Phigby succinctly puts it, “Vay will not waste time stewing over her defeat. She will strike again and soon, and we must be ready, but not here.”

  Talia, The First of the MerDraken people and now a member of our company, knowing the sea as well as a farmer knows his fields, now leads us eastward toward our first stop, an isle that she says we should reach by early eve.

  As the sound of our wingbeats fills the air, the sky is mostly clear except for a few high clouds just above the horizon that remind me of the wing feathers of hawks and eagles. The wind in my face is mild, with just a hint of salt when I draw in a breath.

  Outwardly, everything seems serene enough, but I can’t dispel the thought that Vay’s defeat has only increased her fury and she is preparing another onslaught that will bring a furious torrent of death and destruction.

  Who next will be caught in her wrath? The company for sure, but who else? Innocents perhaps, for it’s clear that Vay is no respecter of persons in her path of rage and ruin across Erdron.

  Golden Wind’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Troubled, Hooper? I feel a weight upon your mind and spirit. Are you distressed over the MerDraken’s suffering? Yes, Vay hurt the MerDraken but most of their people still live, and their sea kingdom is intact. Does that not give you some comfort?”

  “I am grateful, Golden Wind, that it wasn’t worse than it was, truly I am, but—”

  “But what?”

  I’m slow to answer as I don’t want to voice my apprehension, my fear of what I feel is waiting out there for us and for Erdron. Golden Wind gently asks, “You still dwell upon our last meeting with Vay?”

  “Dwell? It’s practically all I can think about. You were there, you saw it. If not for the three sisters—Golden Wind, without their combined power, Vay came so close to defeating—no, so close to killing all of us.”

  “Yes, but we still live, do we not?”

  My long sigh is my response to her question before I say, “I have this feeling . . .”

  “What sort of feeling?”

  “That everything seems tranquil enough, but this stillness is like the calm air that one sometimes feels just before a storm unleashes its fury—only in this case it will be Vay’s tempest.”

  This time, it’s Golden Wind who’s slow to answer. “Yes, Hooper, I feel it too. Vay’s rage is building. Her victories elsewhere cannot dispel her anger at her defeat in the MerDraken realm and the other times that you and I slipped through her fingers.”

  I glance around at my companions, who ride their dragons in silence. I have no idea what their thoughts are, of course, but mine center on the very real possibility that we will soon face a violent storm of Vay’s making and it is but a matter of time before it falls upon the company.

  “She won’t give us any sort of reprieve, will she?” I ask Golden Wind.

  “Reprieve?” the golden chuckles. “Even now as Vay licks her wounds, she gathers her forces to strike back, and yet we have a little time before she’s ready.”

  “How little?” I ask.

  “That I cannot say, Hooper. But as always, we must stay vigilant and keep our weapons close at hand for there is no telling what action Vay will take, nor will we know the day and time of her appearance. But come she will, of that we can be certain and when she does, you can be sure we will be her prey.”

  Just then, Talia rises from her seat and points ahead. My eyes catch the telltale smudge on the horizon marking an island. Soon, we circle over the fair-sized isle that from the air appears as a club with a large knot at the end. Talia points down at a sandy beach, awash in sea-green waves that foam and swish as they sweep up the light-brown seashore toward a line of cruller trees.

  As soon as we set our dragons down on the broad, wave-washed shore, the three sprites take flight, winging away toward the small lagoon, its blue-tinted waters turning dark with the sun’s setting.

  “Where are they headed?” Cara calls to me.

  “Fishing, I think,” I answer, pointing to the crescent-shaped bay.

  “And they should have good luck,” Talia returns and steps aside from her sea-dragon, Wave Rider, as he takes to the sky. “These islands are among the best fishing grounds in the MerDraken realm.”

  While the rest of the dragons settle in among the cruller trees we watch as Wave Rider skims just above the blue-tinted water, lowers his jaw so that it splits the small waves and then snaps it shut. Water squirts out both sides of his mouth but a moment later, we can see him chewing.

  “Looks like he’s snagged a basket of fish,” Amil laughs and then with a snap of his fingers spins away, heading for his dragon, Wind Glow.

  “Where are you going in such a rush?” Alonya calls after him.

  “I have an idea,” Amil answers over his shoulder. “Wind Glow and I are going to try our luck! Doesn’t look all that hard.”

  Just then, the sprites wing over our heads, silver-hued fishes, dotted with small pink spots caught in their talons. They flash among the trees, hover over Golden Wind and as she opens her mouth, drop their fish.

  “I’d say everyone is having luck fishing,” Phigby rumbles. “Too bad we don’t have a pole, string, and hook. We too might eat tasty sea-salmon tonight.”

  With a wave, Amil on Wind Glow passes overhead, heading for the lagoon. Alonya, shaking her head, leans toward me. “I have a bad feeling about this. Amil is no MerDraken and Wind Glow is no sea-dragon.”

  “Wha
t’s the worst that can happen?” Tavin questions.

  “With Amil, anything,” Cara retorts.

  Amil straightens Wind Glow so that he’s alongside Wave Rider but several dragon lengths apart as the sea-dragon makes another run down the lagoon. Wave Rider lowers himself so that he’s just above the water, as does Wind Glow.

  As before, Wave Rider drops his jaw and Wind Glow, seemingly getting the idea, does too. There the semblance ends. Wave Rider no sooner snaps his jaw shut than suddenly, Wind Glow cartwheels through the air as if a giant hand had tripped him up.

  With a wild yell, Amil flies off Wind Glow, doing his best imitation of a bird with a broken wing. At Cara’s, “Oh!” Amil hits, skips, and then slams into the water.

  All of us run down to the water’s edge to peer in the direction where we saw Amil disappear under the gentle waves. “Can you see him?” Phigby demands of no one in particular.

  A moment passes and then Snag cries out, “There!”

  Amil breaks the surface, his arms and hands flailing about, pounding the water, his great ax still in hand. “I’ll go get him,” Alonya chuckles as she reaches up to her shoulders, gently grasps the pixies, and sets them down on the sand.

  Laughing and with a whack to Kyr’s back, Pip points toward Amil. “When sprites come back, we try.”

  “Do much better cartwheel than that,” Kyr answers doing a little jig in the sand.

  “Ahh, that nothing,” Sim replies, “me do that all time. Him only do one somersault, me easily do two, sometimes three. Nothing to it.”

  “Yes,” I agree, “but you at least stay on Twinkle and do not fly off, and no, none of you are going to try that.”

  “Especially,” Talia replies, “as there are fish out there big enough that they would mistake you for a juicy meal.”

  I bend close to the three pixies. “Not to mention Kraguns, Gorgs and who knows what else, or had you forgotten so soon?”

  The pixies squeak, dancing around looking for Alonya to hide behind, but as she’s wading out to save Amil, they do the next best thing and dart behind Phigby.

  Phigby glances over his shoulder at the cowering pixies, shrugs, and gives me a smile.

  Not soon after, Tavin points seaward and announces, “She’s got him!”

  We watch as Alonya tows a sputtering Amil back to shore. Wind Glow, seeing that Amil is all right, wings his way back to shore and settles down next to our emerald dragon, Wind Walker.

  I smile to myself as I can’t help but think that the dragons will have an interesting discussion about the silly Drach who tried to get a land-dragon to fish like a sea-dragon and what happened afterward.

  Alonya pulls Amil to his feet as they near the beach, and a soggy, dripping wet Amil plods up onto the sand to face the company. “So,” Phigby rumbles, eyeing him as he wipes away water from his face, “how was the fishing? Catch anything?”

  “Other than several mouthfuls of seawater, no,” Amil grouses. He reaches up to wipe more water off his bald head. “What I can’t understand is—what happened? We were doing fine one moment, and the next I’m flying through the air.”

  “And an excellent exhibition of how not to fly it was too,” Phigby grunts.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Cara laughs. “He may not be able to fly, but his imitation of a stone skipping across the water was pretty good, I thought.”

  “Indeed,” Phigby acknowledges, “what did he get in there, three, maybe four skips?”

  “Skips?” Tavin laughs. “More like five or six splats, I’d say.”

  Amil rubs his back, grimacing, “And I feel each one, too.”

  “Your dragon caught his jaw on a sandbar,” Talia explains, “that was just below the surface. If you had noticed where the waves broke, you would have known not to try there. The water is way too shallow. Net fishing? Yes. Dragon-fishing? Definitely not.”

  “Is that right?” Amil grunts. “Well, next time, we’ll follow right behind your dragon; he’ll steer us clear of any sandbars.”

  “You could,” Talia answers, leaning on her trident that’s set in the damp sand, “but you’ll catch no fish either as Wave Rider will scoop them all up or scare them off to another part of the lagoon.”

  Phigby lays a hand on Amil’s shoulder. “Why don’t we leave the fishing to the sprites? They don’t go somersaulting through the air nor does it seem that they hit sandbars.”

  “Aye, professor,” Amil answers, “maybe you’re right. I was just thinking that if our dragons could do as Wave Rider they would eat more often.”

  “And a good thought it was,” Phigby nods, “but it almost got the two of you killed.”

  Alonya claps Amil on his other shoulder. “Just think, what Vay couldn’t do with her colossal wave, you almost did out there in a quiet, peaceful lagoon.”

  The mention of Vay turns our lighthearted mood into a subdued, quiet moment. “Uh, yes,” Phigby mutters, “indeed. Now, why don’t we get the dragons and ourselves settled? We have matters to discuss and a task to perform before it grows too dark to read by.”

  As the others lead the dragons a little farther into the stand of cruller trees, I notice Phigby stop and raise his head to stare at the sky. Glancing up with him, I can see high thin clouds streaming far above, their ends whipped into a curl.

  “Horse’s tails,” I observe with a little wave of my hand upward.

  “Indeed,” he sighs, “or, as some call them, Granny Brooms.”

  “Granny Brooms? I don’t think I’ve heard that name before.”

  “Straw brooms,” he explains, “used to be made so that one end curled out and up just a bit. Supposedly, it allowed grannies to catch more in their sweeping, especially along walls and in corners with less effort.”

  I nod as Phigby goes on, motioning upward at the clouds. “And I’d say by the way those Granny Brooms are running along up there you’d think they were sweeping the sky clean ahead of the storm.”

  “Storm?”

  “Oh, yes,” Phigby replies with several nods. “To see such clouds and so many at one time is a harbinger of an impending storm.”

  He draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “A storm above and a storm below and somehow we must weather both.”

  With a few shakes of his head as if to rid himself of such dark thoughts, he turns to me, and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Now come, lad, let us be about the business at hand and forget about distant storms.”

  The dragons have set themselves in a rough circle and as we gather inside the dragon ring we’re a subdued, silent group. No one speaks, though several shuffle their feet and keep their gazes directed at the sand that’s covered here and there with old, fallen cruller tree leaves.

  Amil is the first to speak up. “Since no one else is saying it, I will. We all know what we’re thinking. Vay’s power was such that we barely escaped our last encounter. It took all we had and there wasn’t anything left at the end. If it hadn’t been for the three—”

  “Yes,” Alonya affirms, “if not for the three sisters we’d be lying dead at the bottom of the ocean. Even with Hooper’s gemstones, Pim’s lance, and Talia’s Wave Master we could not stand against her.” She turns to stare at Phigby. Her expression seems to be of one daring him to contradict her.

  “You’re right,” Phigby acknowledges and pulls at his beard, his eyes distant and narrowed. “To cause the ocean to swell as high as a mountaintop . . .”

  “I’ll never forget how it hung over us,” Cara says in a small voice, “and seeing those giant Kraguns actually swimming in the water above our heads.”

  “I’ll never forget,” Pim responds, “how even with our powers joined together it wasn’t enough.”

  “Not until,” Tavin adds, “the three fairies showed and added theirs.” He gives a little shrug. “It’s obvious that Vay’s power rivals theirs and she’s but one.”

  “I guess we can be grateful for that,” Alonya grunts. “But that we by ourselves couldn’t match Vay’s power bodes ill for
the company. Who knows if the three sisters will show again if we find ourselves in the same predicament?”

  “They do sort of come and go when it suits them, don’t they?” Amil replies.

  Phigby shakes himself, straightens and says, “We can take some comfort that we hurt the Sung Dar and Bazyl, Vay’s demon, but we must temper that thought with the MerDraken’s losses.”

  “Aye,” Amil rumbles, “a costly victory as we’ve seen too often these days.”

  “Yes,” Cara adds as she turns to Talia, “but I am grateful that we now have a new and steadfast ally.”

  “One,” Talia replies, “that will remember well your courage and steadfastness in standing with the MerDraken in their time of need against enemies both within and without.”

  “Yes, well,” Phigby rumbles, “I too am gratified, but we need to turn our attention to what comes next. Unless,” he stops and glances around, “anyone wants to turn back now.”

  “Turn back?” Amil snorts. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  Amil glances around at the circle of faces, sees what I see. The quest is beginning to wear on us. We’re tired, physically, mentally, emotionally, perhaps even spiritually. We’ve seen too much death, too much destruction, and it’s weighing heavily on our minds.

  Amil swallows and murmurs, “You are serious.”

  No one answers Phigby and like me, I suspect they’re wrestling with the thought. Phigby turns to me, asks, “Hooper?”

  I slowly raise my eyes to meet his. “Go back? Yes, I admit I’ve thought of what it would be like to have a somewhat normal life again, if that’s what I could call my life before all this.

  “But about the time I do, I see little Loda and Shine, Master Boren and Wind Rover, King Leo and Grand Wind, Sea Bright and Keoni, the Amazos, and the Dyrfolken. I remember little Lydia who said I was beautiful, and all the other little Lydias out there who never will be able to speak of beauty ever again if Vay wins.”

  I take in a deep breath. “And the rest who’ve given their all to thwart Vay.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “Go back? Not until I’m absolutely sure I’ve done my part, whatever that will be.”