Riders of Fire Box Set

by Eileen Mueller

  “Liar. You were figuring out how to sneak in,” Gret snapped, eyes fiery.

  Simeon rubbed the scratch on his neck.

  “Gret,” asked Lars, “what did you actually see?”

  “Ah, I—” She scuffed her boot on the stone floor. “He was acting sneaky, skulking along the corridors and peering through the keyhole—”

  “And you?” barked Simeon. “Hiding in the shadows of the Queen’s Rider’s corridor, late at night? What were you doing?”

  “Waiting for you,” Gret snapped. “You’re more trouble than a rat’s nest.”

  Lars’ instincts aligned with Gret’s, but he had to have proof. “Simeon,” Lars said, thinking fast, “turn out your pockets.” Hopefully they could pin something on him this time.

  Only healing salve. Not a weapon on him. That made sense, he was a healer’s son. But something about this was wrong. If his parents weren’t dragon masters, he wouldn’t have believed him—about Trixia, or tonight.

  Lars ran a hand through his hair. “Simeon, this is a warning. If you’re caught near the Queen’s Rider’s cavern alone again at night, you will face trial and possible banishment. This is not your first warning.”

  That business with Trixia had never been resolved to Lars’ satisfaction, but with two council members vouching for Simeon, there hadn’t been much he could do. “Simeon, go straight to your quarters. Gret, please stay a moment.”

  Lars waited until Simeon left, and shut the door. He turned to Gret, whose fists were balled tightly against her sides. “Gret, I know your intentions are good, but you can’t hold people at knife point. You can be aware and alert. You can keep an eye out. But you cannot draw weapons because someone is looking through a keyhole. No matter how much you dislike him. No matter how angry you are at him. Understood?” He sighed. “Tomorrow, report to the kitchens for duty. I can’t have you injuring Simeon and going unpunished—no matter how slight his injury was.”

  Gret’s shoulders slumped. The skin under her eyes was dark with weariness. “Yes, Master Lars.”

  “Now,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, “go back to bed. You look like you need some sleep.”

  Healing Calls

  It was late and Septimor still hadn’t arrived. Ezaara paced between her cavern and the queen’s den—waiting, doing nothing, while the blue guards were taking Roberto closer to the Wastelands. She couldn’t even prepare for the trip with Adelina sitting on her bed. “Are you sure that’s the right remedy?” Ezaara asked.

  “Absolutely sure. I’m glad you remembered seeing these in Fleur’s alcove.” Adelina placed a vial of yellow granules back into the fleece-lined box. “Will you relax?” she said. “All that pacing is wearing me out.”

  Ezaara slumped in a chair, jiggling her leg.

  “Quit that wiggling too.” Adelina sighed. “All right, I’m sorry for snapping at you. It was Roberto’s decision to banish himself, not yours. Did you realize what you were doing when you gave him this?” She fished a green satin ribbon out of her pocket.

  Ezaara gasped. “That’s mine. I gave it to Roberto the day Zaarusha flew a loop.”

  “I know. I put them in your hair, although I wouldn’t have, if I’d known this would happen.”

  “What?”

  “You still don’t get it!” Fists on her knees, Adelina leaned forward in her seat. “By accepting your ribbon, Roberto vowed to become your protector until he dies.”

  “What?”

  “You already said that.” She rolled her eyes. “Ribbon gifting is tradition. Look, I don’t want to be angry with you. I’ve been thinking about it. Roberto would’ve done the same for me. In fact, he probably would’ve done the same for you without this.” She tossed the length of green satin at Ezaara.

  The ribbon unfurled in the air, falling in a tangle in Ezaara’s lap. “I didn’t ask anything of Roberto. Zaarusha told me to give it to him.”

  “You should never underestimate a dragon, especially our queen.”

  Zaarusha had engineered Roberto to be her protector and had then allowed him to be shipped off? He’d been too convincing for his own good. Ezaara wound the ribbon around her finger, the smooth satin soothing her skin. She wound it onto the fingers of her other hand, and then jumped out of her chair and paced to the den and back. “When are they going to get here?”

  “Why are you so uptight?” Adelina frowned, then her eyes flew wide. “Oh. This is about my brother, isn’t it?”

  Ezaara opened her mouth, but before she could protest, there was a whump in Zaarusha’s den.

  “Septimor’s finally here!” Ezaara ran to the den, Adelina on her heels.

  Septimor’s wings were limp by his sides. “I think she’s unconscious from limplock and blood loss.” He craned his neck toward the girl slumped in one of his saddlebags.

  “You look exhausted,” Ezaara said.

  “I’ll hunt soon.” Septimor glanced around. “Where’s Master Roberto?”

  “Banished.” Ezaara was careful to mind-meld, so Adelina wouldn’t get upset.

  Septimor’s eye ridges flew up. “Whatever for? He’s one of our best.” He lowered himself so they could lift the girl out of the saddlebag.

  She was about thirteen and as pale as goat’s cheese, with a deep bloody gash on her forearm and one of her little fingers hanging off by a scrap of flesh. Her hands were cold, fingers stiff and curled, but her forehead was burning.

  “Her name is Leah. Take care of her, Ezaara. I have to get back to Seppi—he’s still fighting tharuks.” The blue dragon flapped his wings and left.

  They carried Leah to Ezaara’s bed.

  “What’s wrong with her hands?” Ezaara asked, trying to pry her fingers open. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And her breathing’s shallow too.”

  “That’s limplock. It sticks to your nerves, slowly paralyzing you.” Adelina unlaced the girl’s boots. “Roberto taught me about tharuk poisons when I was small. Look.” She pointed to the girl’s toes. Leah’s feet were curled in and her legs were spasming. “I hope we’re not too late.”

  “She needs a full vial of the remedy, sprinkled on her tongue, a little at a time.” Adelina grimaced. “It’ll be tricky because she’s unconscious.”

  “No problem.” Ezaara pushed Leah’s lip against her tooth, making Leah automatically drop her jaw. “You give her that, while I staunch the bleeding.”

  “Good trick.” Adelina sprinkled a few grains onto Leah’s tongue.

  Ezaara made a tourniquet on Leah’s upper arm, out of a shirt and her knife, to slow the blood supply to her forearm. The bleeding eased. She examined the gash. Deep, but it could be stitched, and with the help of piaua … She dribbled the pale green juice into the ripped flesh, to heal the deepest layers. The girl twitched and groaned. The flesh slowly knitted together, but it could use some help. Ezaara threaded her needle with squirrel gut, then stitched the wound while Adelina held the edges together. Then she rubbed more piaua along the scar.

  “Now we’ve got to deal with her finger.” Ezaara exhaled forcefully. Although this wasn’t a job she relished, she had no choice. The finger was already pale and bloodless. She had no way of stitching bones and nerves back together.

  Ezaara went out to the den and called, “Zaarusha?”

  “Coming. Septimor told me you have a limplocked girl here.” The queen flew down to the ledge. “How’s she doing?”

  “Not good. I have to amputate her finger. Could you please heat my knife?”

  “Hold it out.” Zaarusha’s grim tone reflected how Ezaara felt. The queen heated the blade until it glowed.

  Ezaara dashed back into her cavern. She swallowed. “Adelina, c-could you help me with this?”

  Adelina’s eyes were grave as she held Leah’s hand still upon a clean cloth on the bedside table. “We’re ready.”

  It wasn’t physically hard to cut off the flimsy flap of skin holding the girl’s finger in place—yet it was the hardest job Ezaara had ever done. It felt like sli
cing off hope. Damning someone to a bleak future.

  It felt like losing Roberto all over again.

  As she held the hot knife against the stump of Leah’s finger to cauterize it, Leah, still unconscious, whimpered. Ezaara tried not to breathe in the stench of heated flesh. Hot tears ran down her face. Adelina was crying too.

  Ezaara dribbled piaua juice onto the cauterized stump, and then bandaged Leah’s finger. With Adelina’s help, she slowly released the tourniquet.

  “She’ll need feverweed tea,” Adelina whispered, sloshing water into a mug and crumbling feverweed into it. She passed the mug to Ezaara and sprinkled more anti-limplock granules on Leah’s tongue. “We’re not over the pass yet.”

  Exhaling violently, Ezaara paced to the den, holding out the cup to Zaarusha. “Not too hot.”

  Zaarusha leaned in and shot a tiny flame at the cup. “There, that should be warm now. You’re doing a good job, Ezaara.”

  Then why did she feel so hollow?

  When Ezaara came back into her cavern, Adelina was sponging Leah’s forehead. “She’s burning up.”

  “This should help.”

  They propped Leah’s head up and took turns dribbling tea into her mouth. She swallowed reflexively. After half an hour, her fever had cooled a little. Ezaara gave her more antidote, while Adelina and Zaarusha made more tea.

  “Tell me more about limplock and numlock,” Ezaara asked while they waited.

  Adelina settled in a chair. “Numlock stops your emotions and reasoning and makes people seem slow and dull.”

  “How does it feel? Do you know anyone who has had it?”

  “Like you’re dead inside.” Adelina’s eyes slid away. “Anyway, limplock is different. It gradually paralyzes you, starting with your hands and feet and working its way through your body until you stop breathing.” She dribbled tea into Leah’s mouth. “If the dose had been stronger, she would’ve been dead already. We’re lucky Fleur had the antidote in her alcove.”

  §

  Ezaara awoke to whimpering. Leah was having another nightmare. Only it wasn’t yet night—the sun was setting outside. They’d been up tending her all of last night and only dropped off this afternoon, when her fever had broken.

  Adelina raised her head from the pallet next to Ezaara’s.

  “I’ll go,” Ezaara croaked. “Get some more sleep.” She scrambled from her makeshift bed into a chair at the bedside.

  Leah was shivering again. Ezaara pulled the quilt up and grabbed some sleeping furs from a chest, piling them on top of her. Adelina had said that the antidote could make Leah tremble and vomit. So far, they’d only had trembling, but Ezaara had a supply of pails near the bed, just in case. She held Leah’s hand and stroked her forehead. Touch seemed to soothe her.

  Erob melded. “How’s the girl?”

  “Not conscious yet. I can’t leave her with Adelina until she wakes.”

  “I’m going hunting. It may be days before I can eat again.” Erob hesitated. “Ezaara, whether you can come or not, I’m leaving in a few hours.”

  Ezaara twisted a button on her jerkin. “Erob, please …”

  “I can’t keep delaying. Neither of us want to find Roberto dead.”

  “But if he’s injured, I can help heal him.”

  “Not if you’re here, you can’t.”

  All the people she loved were slipping, like salt, through her fingers: Roberto was gone; she had no idea where Ma, Tomaaz or Pa were; and when Leah was well enough, she’d be running out on Zaarusha. How had it come to this? A tear slipped down Ezaara’s cheek. Why was life full of choices that hurt?

  “I know he cares about you.”

  Ezaara froze.

  Adelina was awake, watching her.

  “I—”

  “I know you care about him too,” Adelina said, “but I don’t think I can look after Leah properly if she’s unconscious. I mean, what do I do if she never wakes up?”

  “No one’s asking you to.”

  “I know. I also know Erob well. I’m guessing he’ll be leaving soon. You’ve been stretched as tight as a bowstring since yesterday. You want to go with him, don’t you?”

  Ezaara nodded. Leah was peaceful now, sleeping with a trace of a smile.

  Adelina gestured toward her. “Let’s hope she rouses. In the meantime, I’ll visit the mess room and get some food. Where have you been keeping your supplies?”

  Ezaara’s cheeks burned. “In Roberto’s cavern, so I can load them into Erob’s saddlebags.”

  “Logical. I’ll strap his saddlebags on him and start loading.” Adelina hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re going. I’ve been crazy with worry about him.”

  “How do you hide your anxiety so well?”

  “You mean like this?” Adelina flashed her a sparkling smile. “I’ve had years of practice.” Face grim, she strode out the door.

  §

  A scream woke Ezaara. Leah, again. Her neck hurt—she’d dozed off in her chair.

  Sitting up in bed, Leah was wide-eyed. “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “It’s all right.” Adelina put an arm around her. “You’re with friends, safe at Dragons’ Hold.”

  Ezaara patted Leah’s hand. “You’ve been sick, but we’re helping you.” The torches had burned low. How late was it? Had she already missed Erob?

  “Ezaara, I’ll take care of Leah. Zens and his tharuks ruined my family, and I swore I’d always help any victim.” Adelina gestured to the door, her eyes full of meaning. “Go. Give him my love.”

  A jolt ran through Ezaara.

  She hugged Adelina. “Thank you.” She fastened her sword at her hip. Snatching up her healer’s pouch and the archer’s cloak Roberto had given her, Ezaara ran out the door.

  “Erob, I’m ready!” she cried.

  “Good, I’ll be back at my den shortly.”

  A surge of energy ran through her. They were finally leaving.

  The tunnels were dim, torches low, as Ezaara raced toward Roberto’s cavern, glad to be burning off some energy after caring for Leah for a night and a day. Jaevin’s poisoning, her being accused and Roberto’s banishment made no sense, but they were all connected. If only she could fit the pieces together, she’d be able—

  A figure stepped out of the shadows. Simeon’s teeth flashed in a grin. “You seem to be in a hurry, My Honored Queen’s Rider. Going somewhere?” His eyes slid over her body, stopping on her face.

  “Not really, I’ve just been busy and need exercise.”

  “So late? With such a warm cloak?” He approached her.

  The blizzard in the south-west was still raging. She’d need the cloak as she traveled. Ezaara stepped back. “It’s cold out.”

  He moved closer. Ezaara backed away. Her foot hit the wall behind her. Simeon crowded her, his body only a hand’s breadth from hers. “I can keep you warm.” He ripped her cloak off, tossing it aside.

  Ezaara snatched her sword. Before she could raise it, Simeon grabbed her wrist, squeezing. Gods, his grip was an iron vice. Her bones crunched and she let go, sword clattering onto the rock floor.

  Simeon slammed her hands above her and thrust his knee against her groin, his body pinning her against the wall.

  Ezaara bucked and twisted. It was no use.

  His eyes slid to her breasts. Trapping both her hands with one of his, he ripped a button off her jerkin, yanking the fabric open.

  His breath was hot, harsh in her ears. “You’re mine,” he growled. “No running off to rescue him. He won’t want you once I’ve had you.”

  Ezaara opened her mouth to scream, but Simeon slammed his hand against it, knocking her head on the rock wall. She bit down, hard. Grabbing his flesh between her teeth, she ripped.

  His hand slid out of her teeth, smacking into her head as he lurched backwards. Ezaara shoved him, and Simeon sprawled on the rock. Snatching up her sword, she held the tip at his chest.

  Gret ran around the corner. In a flash, Gret had Simeon on his feet, her blade at his throat
and his arm twisted up behind his back. “Caught in the act, you filthy rat!”

  Simeon hung his head. “I’m sorry, Ezaara. I truly am. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shut up!” Gret snapped, then addressed Ezaara. “Let’s get him to Lars. With two witnesses …” Her eyes took in Ezaara, picking up her cloak, sheathing her sword. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Ezaara! Where are you?” Erob. It was time.

  Ezaara nodded.

  “But Lars won’t believe me without you to back me up. He’s always asking for proof. Please,” Gret pleaded.

  Questions would turn into a trial, and a trial wouldn’t happen now, in the middle of the night. She didn’t have time. Roberto could be dying, right now.

  “Ezaara.”

  “Thank you, Gret, but I’m sorry.”

  As Ezaara raced to Erob, Simeon’s gloating echoed down the deserted tunnel. “Once again, little Gret, it’s your pathetic biased word against mine.”

  The Wastelands

  Tangerine sand, as bright as the orange on Ana’s scarves, undulated in endless rippled hillocks. Ezaara’s nostrils burned, just from breathing. Stinging sand grains whipped into her eyes, and sweat slicked her back. She’d always imagined the Wastelands as bleak, but this cruel land was also breathtaking. The rolling hills were etched with mysterious patterns from the wind’s fingertips, and stretched so far they made her eyes ache.

  “They’re called dunes,” said Erob, “those hills.”

  “It’s hopeless, Erob. How will we ever find him?”

  “Keep mind sweeping. Roberto’s got to be somewhere.”

  “It’s been two days. I haven’t sensed a thing, except you. Apart from those tents near that oasis and a few Robandi tribes, the only thing we’ve seen is sand.”

  “Don’t give up. We have to find him.”

  Hopefully alive. Although the longer they searched, the less likely that was. Ezaara gripped Erob’s spinal ridge with tired fingers. Her throat ached and eyes stung—and it wasn’t from the sand.

  §

  The heat pressed against Roberto, like a scratchy blanket. Despite the undershirt wrapped around his head and mouth, his throat rasped. He shook his waterskin. Not a drop left—he’d drained the last trickle hours ago. It was a miracle the paltry contents had lasted that long.