In all her battles for the realm, she’d only seen Zens a few times, but every time, he’d made her blood run cold.
The trees along the track thinned and the mountainside grew steeper. Marlies pressed on. If she could make Devil’s Gate when no tharuks were around … but she had no way of knowing what their movements were.
High above the tree line, looking over the Flatlands, Marlies swung her rucksack off her shoulder and took a deep draft from her waterskin. Here and there, between the dark carpet of Great Spanglewood Forest, the mighty Tooka River ran silver. By day, she’d see the distant peaks of the Grande Alps surrounding Lush Valley to the east, but the night had swallowed every trace of her family home. It was as if Lush Valley didn’t exist and the last eighteen years had been erased. Here she was again, on a solo quest for Zaarusha.
No, she had killed the dragonet. And the new life she’d made had been shattered by her past.
An eerie howl rippled through the night. Wolves—in the trees behind her.
Shards! She was low on freshweed, so she’d skipped taking it and they’d picked up her scent. She was too far up the trail to run back to a tree. Marlies snatched a rope from her rucksack and sprinted up the hill, keeping an eye on the rocky mountainside.
Thank the Egg, the moon was up or she’d have no chance. There, that outcrop above the trail looked solid enough. She ran toward it, a howl sending gooseflesh along her arms. Marlies tied a dragon’s hitch in the end of the rope and threw it at the outcrop.
And missed. The rope hit the ground.
A wolf ran out of the trees, growling. A lone wolf. Was it sick or crazed?
She threw the rope again. It sailed over the outcrop and caught. Oh shards, the wolf was getting closer, its gray pelt a flash against the dark trail. She tugged, tightening the hitch around the jutting rock. The wolf was so close, she could hear it panting.
Grabbing the rope, Marlies swarmed up the cliff. The wolf leaped, and its nose bumped her boot.
The wolf tensed its haunches, jumping again.
Thrusting her feet against the cliff, Marlies pulled hard with her arms, gaining height. There was a jolt that nearly yanked her arms out of their sockets. Marlies slammed against the rock, winding herself. The wolf was swinging in midair, growling, its jaws clamped on the rope. Foam speckled its jawline. It was crazed. If her hands were free, she could shoot it, but with it hanging onto her rope, she couldn’t even tie herself up to free her hands. Marlies planted her feet against the rock face and hung on.
The wolf wasn’t half as clever. It writhed and bucked in midair, thrashing its limbs.
Her arms burned. It was a sheer drop to a narrow trail then the valley below. If the wolf didn’t finish her, the mountainside would. “Steady,” she called, “or you’ll have us both dead.”
The wolf growled, its eyes mean slits.
Gradually, it stopped thrashing and hung on, its dead weight making Marlies’ arms shriek with pain. This was beyond burning, beyond sore, her arm, shoulder and neck muscles spasmed, begging her to let go. It was only a matter of time.
The wolf dropped to the ground, snarling, and sat on the trail, waiting.
Marlies held onto the rope and, with the other hand, she pulled the rest of the rope up, jamming it between her knee and the cliff face. She rested for a moment, then freed her knife from her belt and hacked off the soggy end of the rope where the wolf’s infested jaws had been. The last thing she needed was to become wolf-crazed.
Down on the trail, the wolf snapped up the discarded piece of rope and ran around in a frenzy shaking it. Then it slumped on the trail, gnawing.
How long would it stay there? Well, there was no going down. She pulled herself up until she could climb onto a narrow ledge. Her legs dangling off the edge, she secured herself to the ledge with her rope. If she fell, the knots would yank tight, making it impossible to get down without help. But at least she wouldn’t be dead.
She glanced at the wolf. Oh, bad move. Her head spun. She didn’t normally get vertigo. Probably a combination of tiredness and no food. But there was nothing she could do until the wolf left. She couldn’t take her rucksack off up here. Exposed on the ledge, Marlies pulled her hood tight and tugged her cloak around her. She was sitting tight, stuck again. No one was coming to save her. No dragon would swoop down and pluck her from the ledge.
Oh well, she’d waited eighteen years in Lush Valley; she guessed she could wait a little longer. She wouldn’t give up; she had to get to Death Valley and save Zaarusha’s son.
Storm Brewing
“We’re leaving, Tomaaz, and we’re not taking a tharuk spy to Dragons’ Hold,” Pa whispered. He stood, bumping the table, rattling the weapons and tipping over a pouch of herbs.
“Lovina’s not a spy. How could you even think that?” Tomaaz kept his voice low. If Pa kept this up, he’d wake her—asleep in Ezaara’s room.
“I won’t let you jeopardize the future of our family just because Lovina scrubs up well,” Pa hissed.
“That’s not on, Pa! You heard what she said!” Tomaaz whispered. He leaped to his feet, grabbing his chair before it fell to the floor. “You saw the lash marks on her back. Bill will kill her if we leave her here.”
Pa picked up some smoked meat. “We can’t take her with us. What if she’s still under Bill’s influence?” He shoved the meat in a sack.
“He abducted her. Tortured her. Beat her. She’s not on his side. She’s—” Tomaaz stopped, unable to speak as he remembered the bloody mess and infected scars on Lovina’s back. And Bill smacking her head into that tree.
“Maybe this is what Bill wants—us fighting about her.” Pa’s breath was ragged. “I’ll bet he wants her to sow unrest between us.”
“It’s not like that. Why can’t you believe me?” Tomaaz pleaded. “Pa, it’s my fault she’s injured. If I hadn’t searched the jail for you … if I’d followed Bill instead, he wouldn’t have broken Lovina’s arm or fingers.”
Sympathy flickered over Pa’s face.
This was Tomaaz’s chance. “He’s still out here. It’s not safe for her in Lush Valley,” Tomaaz said. “You know, you could ask Ernst and Ana what she was like—she’s been staying with them.”
“We’ll see.” Pa turned his back and busied himself with packing supplies. “Now that Lovina’s asleep, it’s time for a proper introduction to our dragons. Grab that sack.”
Tomaaz had already met them, but seeing the dragons could soften his father’s attitude, so he picked up the sack of food and followed him outside.
The bronze and silver dragons were curled up on the grass, sleeping in the sun. This close, it was hard to believe the size of them, and to get used to the others, blue wings spread, wheeling in the sky.
“Handel and Liesar are exhausted,” said Pa. “They’ve come directly from Dragons’ Hold—three days’ flight away—and they got caught up for a couple of days in skirmishes in Western Settlement.” Pa strode to the bronze dragon and put his sack of supplies into one of the dragon’s saddlebags, which was large enough to hold a man—well, a small one, anyway. “Tomaaz, meet Handel.”
Tomaaz nodded, putting his sack in the saddlebag.
“You can speak, Son. He understands you.” Pa’s eyes danced with amusement.
“You’re joking, right?”
Pa placed Tomaaz’s hand on the dragon’s snout.
A deep voice rumbled through his head. “Now, why would that be a joke? Think I’m too dumb to understand, do you?” The dragon’s green eyes regarded him, its diamond-shaped pupils narrowing to a slit.
Tomaaz’s cheeks heated. “I–I didn’t know. I thought—”
Warm dragon’s breath gusted across Tomaaz’s face and a strange sound echoed in his head, like stones skittering down a bank. Was Handel laughing?
“Of course I am.”
“So, you’re Pa’s dragon?”
“No, Tomaaz. He’s my rider.” Handel winked at him. “You don’t have to speak out loud. While you’re touchin
g me, I can hear your thoughts—it’s called mind-melding.”
Keeping his hand on Handel’s head, Tomaaz let the memory of Bill attacking Lovina resurface. “Can you help me convince my father that we should take her with us?”
“She’s important to you, isn’t she?” Handel asked.
Was she? Tomaaz hadn’t really thought about it. She just needed help.
“Well, you’ll never find out if we don’t bring her. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Tomaaz.” Pa’s voice made him start. “This is Liesar.”
Tomaaz went over and laid his hand on the silver dragon’s head. Like Handel’s, her scales were smooth, warm and supple—like soft leather. “My mother’s your rider, isn’t she?” There was no mistaking those turquoise eyes.
“It’s been a long time, but yes.” Liesar regarded him. “Greetings from your sister. She’s doing well at Dragons’ Hold.”
“Thank the Egg. I was worried about her.”
“It’s funny, you know,” the silver dragon melded. “You cuss like a dragon rider, even though no one in Lush Valley likes dragons or riders.”
“What do you mean?”
“‘The Egg’ and ‘shards’ refer to the legendary great Egg, from which Arisha, the Great Dragon, the mother of all dragons, was born. ‘Sharding’ is what happens when a dragon bursts forth from its egg.” Liesar chuckled.
“Lots of people here speak like that.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” The dragon yawned. “I’d better get some sleep. It’ll be a long flight back. Make sure you leave one of my front saddlebags empty for Lovina.”
“For Lovina?”
“Yes, you want her to come with us, don’t you? She’ll fit nicely in there.”
“Yes, but Pa—”
“Handel’s already convinced him.” Liesar winked and went back to sleep.
§
Spreading her wings, Liesar ascended into the dark sky, sending a rush of cold wind at Tomaaz’s face. Treetops flashed past. He turned to wave to Lofty below, his arm constricted by Pa’s dragon riders’ garb, but Lofty had already been swallowed by the night. They were so high. Going so fast. Behind them, a few isolated torches winked in the dark. That was all there was of Lush Valley settlement. Nothing else was visible in the dark—his lifelong home, his friends—everything had vanished.
A rush of dizziness hit Tomaaz, and he closed his eyes, gripping the saddle. Shards! If this was flying, Pa could have it. There was no way he wanted to feel this rotten all the time. Leaning low in his saddle, he focused on the silver dragon’s neck scales, breathing slowly. He’d never had a great head for heights, but he hadn’t ever felt this bad. Then again, he’d never been this high.
In the saddlebag in front of him, Lovina’s eyes were shut. She’d woken late afternoon for a few sips of broth, then dozed off again. Even in sleep, her face was drawn in pain. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, her splinted arm resting on them. She started fitfully, muttering in her sleep.
Risking further nausea, Tomaaz leaned over and tugged her blanket up.
§
Hans hunched low in the saddle as Handel circled down and landed by the forest near Western Settlement.
“It’s eating at you, not knowing how she is, isn’t it?” melded his dragon.
“Yes, I have to know if Marlies is alive. I’ll be back soon.” Hans jogged off toward Nick’s inn. He passed a few cottages, silent and empty. A door banged in the breeze.
On the outskirts of town, glass from the inn’s shattered windows crunched underfoot. The front door was ripped off its hinges. Hans paused by the hollow doorway. This wrecked carcass had been home to Nick, Esmeralda, little Urs, and any other littlings they’d had. Using his dragon sight, he scoured the inn: no one alive but no dead either.
Sword drawn, he walked through the yard. The eastern wing was charred debris. The stable doors were smashed and the stench of rotten burned horseflesh hung on the air.
Hans melted into the shadows and raced back to the forest. As he barged through the trees to where Handel and Liesar were waiting, Tomaaz jumped up, nocking an arrow.
“It’s only me,” Hans called.
“Phew! You put the breeze up my spine, there.” Tomaaz lowered his bow, then peered at him. “What is it, Pa?”
Was he that easy to read? Hans shook his head. “I went looking for an old friend. I was hoping he had news of your mother …”
“And?”
“His home has been destroyed and he and his family are gone,” muttered Hans. “I can only hope he’s fast enough that tharuks don’t find him.”
Their unspoken question hung thickly in the night air. What about Marlies?
§
After traveling all night, Tomaaz’s backside ached. For the hundredth time, he adjusted Lovina’s covers. At least he could stretch and move. She must be feeling worse, all hunched up in a saddlebag like that. Her face was so pale. The dark rings under her eyes hadn’t improved, even though she’d slept for most of their journey.
For a moment, he compared her to Beatrice. She didn’t have Beatrice’s obvious beauty, but then he doubted she’d spit on anyone either. There was a gentleness about Lovina that surprised him. After so many years of Bill’s abuse, he’d have expected bitterness or resentment.
She stirred. Her eyes opened, meeting his. She tried to talk, but only croaked.
Tomaaz leaned forward, holding the waterskin to her lips. “Here, you must be parched.”
Lovina drank deeply. Wincing, she adjusted her position—no mean feat with only one good arm.
Tomaaz gave her some dried arnica flowers to chew against the pain.
“Look,” Lovina said, gesturing with her healthy arm at the sweeping mountains behind them and the Flatlands stretching miles to distant peaks in the West.
A broad river divided the plains from a forest that spread to the feet of severe snow-clad peaks to the north—it looked like days of flight away. It was so vast and open after living between the Grande Alps.
“It’s quite something,” Tomaaz replied. “I’ve never been beyond the Grande Alps before.”
“I have.” Lovina was silent for a few moments. “But I’ve never seen any of it without fog. Not that I remember, anyway.” She turned to him. “Thank you for giving me clear-mind berries.”
“It was nothing.” Heat crept up Tomaaz’s neck.
“No,” said Lovina. “It’s everything.”
§
They’d been underway for less than a day, when a chill wind rippled in from the west. Shading his eyes, Hans scrutinized the sky. In the distance, above the Terramites, a boiling stew of black cloud was thickening.
“Handel and Liesar, we may have to take shelter.” Years of being away from Dragons’ Hold, and now, when they were only two days’ flight away, they’d have to stop. “Or should we fly on, through the storm?”
“Easy, Hans,” Handel cautioned. “The girl’s health is delicate.”
“Exactly why we shouldn’t have brought her,” Hans said.
“We have a duty to care for those wronged by Zens,” Handel replied.
Hans sighed. He had no reply to that, and Handel knew it. “Are there any friendly way-stops nearby?”
Liesar answered, “Star Clearing should be fine. It’s only a short flight, and I don’t think our enemies have ransacked it yet. No one is likely to attack in a blizzard, so you’ll be safe enough if Handel and I shelter in one of the nearby caves.”
It was good to hear her voice in his head. They’d lived too long without dragons. If only Marlies were here, with the four of them melding, he’d feel complete. But he had to stop second-guessing her decision to help Zaarusha. They owed the queen. “Handel, I haven’t been able to see anything about Marlies yet. Have you had any luck?” Hans pulled his hood up against the cold.
“I’ve seen some vague images, but nothing definite yet.”
“What were they?”
“I’d rather wait until I have something conc
rete, Hans.”
Well, some things hadn’t changed. Handel still hid portents of bad news.
§
Oh gods, Tomaaz was beautiful. His face lit with concern as he leaned over to tuck her in. The wind ruffled his blond hair and made his eyes shine.
But if Lovina wasn’t mistaken, he was slightly off-color. Despite the wind blasting his cheeks, his face was pale; and every now and then, a shudder passed through him. He sometimes glanced at the horizon, but never down at the landscape, instead keeping his eyes glued to the dragon’s neck—when he wasn’t looking at her.
There it was again. He gripped the saddle harder, his knuckles turning white, panic flashing across his features. Poor guy.
Still, he was lucky to have parents and a sister. People who loved him.
“Are you all right, Lovina?” He held her forearm securely, easing the blanket out from under it, so it wouldn’t hurt. Then he placed her arm against her body and pulled the blankets up over her. “Your fingers are so cold,” he said.
As if she mattered.
“Thank you.” She hadn’t even realized her arm was half frozen until it was nestled against her—or that her bandaged broken fingers had stopped aching because they were so numb.
His soft smile made her feel cherished.
Stupid, stupid. He was just making sure she was comfortable. It was nothing special. Nothing personal. Just the healer’s son looking after his charge. Lovina sighed. Life was one endless round of pain. And Tomaaz was no exception. As soon as she was healed, he’d ignore her, like everyone else did.
§
Tomaaz squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to Liesar’s neck, trying to shake the dizziness. Liesar swooped. Not again. His stomach lurched, threatening to turf his lunch into the air—or worse, over Lovina. He swallowed back bile, stifling a groan. Thank the Egg, Lovina wasn’t awake to see his discomfort. Actually, this was torture.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 45