The Swash-buckling Ballad of a Vandagyre

     saw nought but mist, in wakeful nap,

     each step brought crystals to his core,

     ice crystals that would pierce and sap

      some more and more of feathers' warmth.

     But Giacomo would reach his friend

     no matter what the cost. He trudged

     through draining snow. She would commend

      his efforts, that was certain, too,

     but even in his addled state

     of pain and fear, the Vandagyre

     knew, without help, that both their fates

      would be but most unpleasant ones.

     And with conviction, power new,

     the Vandagyre called aloud:

     "Has any bandit here passed through?

      "Armin the Small? Or else Kanrik?"

     "Small Armin ain't no bandit," huffed

     a tiny Bori. "He's in caves

     on Kreludor. The guy's quite tough!"

      The weight of entrails lower dropped,

     but Giacomo would not resign.

     "Has anyone a bandit seen?

     I need a thief! My friend's confined!"

      To disappointment great, the looks

     exchanged on faces told him all.

     No one had seen a thief, but worse,

     They had believed him not at all.

      “Poor fellow,” whispered one. “The worm

     Has got him way too good, it seems.”

     Another whimpered, “Those wounds look bad;

     he walks as if he lives in dreams.”

      “Escort him north.” “Why me? Why there?”

     “Our Taelia can handle him.

     Don’t touch the lad! Can you not see

     He’s quite unwell?” “His face looks grim!”

      The Vandagyre, all too weak

     Could not one syllable more speak,

     And let the dwellers of the cave

     Deliver him away from grave.

      You understand me not, I need

     A thief to track down treasure real.

     My friend is missing, not some jewel

     Or money someone else might steal…

      Poor Giacomo, could not discern

     between mere thoughts and words he spoke.

     But suddenly, a sound was heard

     among the herding commonfolk,

     providing hope and comfort both.

     ”I know just who you’re looking for.

     Hang on, and keep your fat beak shut,

     For I have yet a plan in store.”

      Then louder still. “I’ll stay with him.

     The rest of you can go about

     your days. Thank you for bringing him;

     you’re kind, of that I have no doubt.”

      From fog to falling drop he felt,

     As if he’d walked right off a ledge

     on misty mountain home, only

     instead of flying, down the edge

      he tumbled first head over tail.

     Then rushing black did greet his sight—

     The Vandagyre frantically

     did swing his wings, but ‘twas no flight.

     And then, no more of morning light.

      “A victim of the Snowager.”

     New warmth. A hearty fire.

     Pain.

     Where icicles had pierced, new warmth.

     A hearty fire.

     Pain again.

      “Thank Fyora that you brought him here;

     so many wounds went far too long

     without some treatment. This one, too,

     did keep him warm and keep him strong.”

      The Faerie of the Snow knelt down,

     and gave small Fred some petpet treats.

     “What did he mean by ‘did I find

     The thief to mangy pirates beat?’”

      In answer, she received the piece

     of parchment spelling Hannah’s doom.

     “Oh heavens, not this penmanship,

     and Hannah too has been entombed…!”

      A pair of graven furrows deep

     did etch themselves across her face.

     “If I may chime in, Taelia,

     this rescue job is not your place.

      He’d won the Spotted Easter Negg,

     and is a master thief. And yet,

     It also means he’ll do it all,

     regardless of the cost, or bet.”

      The Faerie of the Snow did nod.

     “The least that I can do is heal.”

     She turned toward her patient, with

     her hands outstretched, commanded, ”Feel.”

      In less than half a trice, he sprung,

     his beak half open, agonized.

     “I’ve got to find my friend—“ “I know,

     You’re pluckier than I realized…

      but right now, sweet, you’ve got to rest.

     you will not feel, or search your best

     with cuts ablaze across your skin.

     Meanwhile, I’ll show you that I’ve been

      assisting you in rescue search.

     Next time, rise slowly, do not lurch.

     And when you wake again, you’ll see

     that someone’s come to set you free.”

      Encouragement, he needed not.

     with soothing tones from elder fae,

     The Vandagyre sunk again

     Into the bed, into dreams grey.

     He dreamed of mattocks made of aches,

     of Elephantes pink who danced,

     of caverns musty with no end,

     and watched it all within his trance.

     Much like cold water on his head,

     at once, the dream was overturned.

     A cave did greet him, sending waves

     of panic through his cuts so burned.

     “Ah, welcome to the Guild of Thieves,”

     a crisp, dry voice resounded through

     the mountain cave. “We're underground?!”

     “Indeed we are. What thoughts had you...?!”

     began the pirate-flavoured speech,

     berating the poor Vandagyre.

     “...calling out for thieves is near

     as bad as falsely yelling, 'Fire!'”

     The words the Gelert spoke did not

     sink in as much as jagged scar,

     the hood that hid his eyes. The lad

     asked, “Are you who I think you are?”

     A long, exasperated sigh.

     “My reputation doth precede

     me, it would seem. But, to the point:

     I shall look over your misdeed.

     Our friend’s now in a seedy joint.

     “You know them? Where?” the words spilled out.

     “She taught you well, you scrawny thing,

     you're brave, impulsive, ready too.

     The Narwhool Knaves are known to bring

     destruction, after Bloodhook went.

     Or rather, after Hannah had

     dismantled them by force. They're back,

     and something tells me they're still mad.”

     “But how do we find them?” A jolt

     did lance throughout his wings at this.

     “I'm getting there,” the Gelert scoffed.

     “How do I know you're not amiss?”

     The Vandagyre blinked. “My voice

     and ragged cap should tell you true.”

     “I mean, that an elaborate ploy

     is not what you intend to do.”

     Hurt, Giacomo withdrew the book,

     the one from his small-feathered days.

     “Oh heavens,” Kanrik muttered. Flip.

     “This notebook has seen better days.

     A dedicated, lifelong fan...

     I'd say I'm jealous, but I'm not.

     Hannah there's the only one

     to toe the line of fame. I've got

     a group of Pteri thieves that I

     can lend you for your noble cause.”

     The Vandagyre bristled. “Won't

     you go yourself?” Two Gelert paws

     then clasped the battered, beaten wings.

     “Of course I will, but subtly.

     That Usul means much more to me

     than any treasure I could see.

     If something happens, I'll be there.

     You won't see me, but I'll see you.

     Our spies have tracked the Narwhool Knaves,

     and know of future movements, too.”

     The weakened Vandagyre stretched.

     “Then let's be off,” he tried to speak,

     but at the thought of Hannah, trussed

     like bales of hay, words stayed in beak.

     Since Giacomo had spoken not,

     the Leader of the Thieves went on,

     “The Mirglepelago is where

     our battle lines will soon be drawn.”

     The Vandagyre's head had throbbed

     at mention of a fight. “You mean

     we've got to fight to get her back?

     Why can't we just create a scheme?”

     The Gelert grinned. “That's how to think

     like a true thief. Still, it won't hurt

     to be prepared.” A few light pats

     were given from a paw with dirt.

     “Now, are you ready to proceed?

     The Pteri guard is yours--” “But wait!”

     Bright Giacomo broke in. “I look

     so different that I'd meet a fate

     more dire than our friend's. Could I

     disguise myself as one of yours?”

     Old Kanrik smirked. “I like your style.

     Such tactics often win the wars.

     Let's get you into Pteri garb.

     No Neopet would ever think

     to look up twice at flying ones.

     They wouldn't ever make a stink.”

     Another cycle bathed in dark,

     then waking up in walls of stone.

     The Vandagyre shivered. This

     was so unlike the nest he'd known.

     “You sure you're healed enough?” Kanrik

     inquired of brave Giacomo.

     He shrugged his wings. “If I can be

     completely honest, I don't know.

     But time is running out for her.

     You will be near, just like you said?”

     The Gelert nodded. “But of course.”

     Another pat on feathered head.

     The Pteri garb, ill-fitting though

     it was, did serve to make him look

     like one such Pteri who enjoyed

     a series of fine meals from cooks.

     He took to air, his muscles screamed,

     but he continued toward the place

     where Kanrik said the Guild had spies,

     the sea did greet his injured face.

     Relieved was he when salty tones

     did hover o'er the ocean bright.

     The Vandagyre patted Fred,

     a comfort small in fearful plight.

     How far, the Mirglepelago,

     did seem to weary Vandagyre!

     His head was first to droop, but then

     his wings themselves began to tire.

     A warning never reached his beak,

     but slowly backward did he drift,

     until he reached formation’s end,

     and not a Pteri saw the shift.

     Mother always said, “Just fly,

     it works itself out, fly it off.”

     This time, he thought, as through the air

     he plummeted, began to cough,

     I don't think you were right this time.

     He barely saw the tiny ship

     approaching from a distance. Fred,

     sensing danger, chose to grip

     the Vandagyre, pull him up.

     A silent ghost, a lone nomad,

     the ship drew nearer, nearer still,

     until it nearly caught the lad,

     who, by this time, was nearly downed

     But wood did catch, he was not drowned.

     The Pteri garb was loose in spots,

     the strings between it all in knots.

     “What have we here,” a voice like sand,

     did, of the Vandagyre demand.

     “A spy that hopes to win some loot,

     and he's not a real Pteri to boot!”

     Exhausted, Giacomo did think,

     as hurt and tired as he was,

     there had to be a way, away

     from pirate's doom and danger's jaws.

     His heart then gave a lurch. He stared,

     and blinked, made absolutely sure,

     but yes, a Narwhool graced the flags.

     He smiled, for he knew how to lure.

     To be continued…