“Me neither. Not much we can do about that now.”
“Agreed. We need to see Lars.”
“He’s seen us already,” Zaarusha rumbled in Ezaara’s mind. “That’s his cavern.”
A figure stood on a ledge below, limned in torchlight. Ezaara rubbed her cold hands. “Let’s pay him a visit.”
“After that, you should eat,” Zaarusha replied.
Ezaara’s belly rumbled, but food was the last thing she felt like with her fresh memory of Roberto, battered and bloody. She mind-melded with Singlar, who was curled up on the ledge. “Please let Lars know that Queen Zaarusha and I would like to visit.”
“He’s already expecting you,” was Singlar’s reply.
Zaarusha swooped through the cold night air to land neatly on Lars’ ledge.
“Greetings, Ezaara,” Lars said. “We’ve missed you today.”
Ezaara dismounted and shook Lars’ hand. The council leader’s eyes were as cold as the icicles behind him.
“You’re freezing,” said Lars. “Let’s discuss your recent whereabouts inside. With war looming, the last thing we need is our Queen’s Rider getting ill.”
Was that concern or a reprimand? Either way, Ezaara didn’t like Lars’ tone. She wasn’t only our Queen’s Rider—the council’s property, to do with as they saw fit. She was Ezaara of Lush Valley, Zaarusha’s rider. She had a say in her life. If they hadn’t learned that after wrongly trying to banish her and getting Roberto nearly killed in the Robandi desert, then they had a thing or two to learn. “Thank you, Master Lars,” she said demurely. “That would be nice.”
Zaarusha chuckled. “I see you can manage him on your own. I’m going hunting. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
A fire blazed in Lars’ hearth, the smoke funneling up a natural chimney in the rock ceiling. Ezaara took off her gloves and held her numb hands out, sitting in an overstuffed chair near the fire.
Lars sat in the chair opposite her.
“Come, Ezaara, you’re positively blue,” Lydia said, bustling over with a warm cup of herb tea and a plate laden with cookies. The scent of cinnamon wafted over them. Ezaara’s mouth watered. She loved the winter delicacies, made with ground almonds and egg whites.
“Would you like one, Ezaara?” asked Lars.
He was playing the congenial host. Would he be that congenial when he found out where she’d just been? Ezaara was about to pick up a cookie but changed her mind. She wasn’t a littling, to be plied with treats then told what to do. “Maybe later. Business first.” She leaned back, crossing her long legs. “Do you know where I’ve been?”
Lars replied, “Please, tell me.”
“Death Valley, to see Master Roberto.”
“I thought so,” Lars replied.
So, it wasn’t a surprise. She’d thought she’d been so stealthy.
He leaned forward. “You didn’t actually see him, of course, you’re just speaking figuratively.”
The memory played out in her mind again: Roberto, bloodied and torn, chains clanking. Ezaara swallowed. “Yes, I saw him.” Shards, her voice was husky. She mustn’t give away her emotions or Roberto could be banished all over again.
Lars’ eyebrows shot up in surprise and he choked on his cinnamon star, taking a gulp of tea to wash it down.
She put steel into her voice. “He’s being tortured. Zens has him in chains and is probably beating him again as we sit here, having tea and cookies.” She was doubly glad she hadn’t eaten one.
Still coughing, he asked, “How did you slip in?”
“The same way Tomaaz and Roberto got in last time.” Ezaara carefully placed her tea on the table. “Now that I know where he is, he’ll be easy to rescue. With two or three dragons and a few riders, we’d be in and out in no time.” She had no idea how to get into Roberto’s prison—a minor detail.
Lars took a long draught of tea, eyes regarding her over the rim.
There was a sharp rap at the door, and Lydia admitted Tonio. He barreled into the room. “Lars, Zaarusha is back. I suspect Ezaara was in Death Valley. None of her family know—” His words dried up. A mask of superficial cordiality snapped over his face. “Good evening, my honored Queen’s Rider.”
“Good evening, Tonio.” Ezaara nodded, deliberately dropping off his title. “Yes, I have been to Death Valley.”
“And?” The spymaster’s gaze was genuinely curious.
“And we need to rescue Master Roberto before Zens kills him.”
“You’re assuming a lot, Ezaara.” Tonio’s voice was silky, laced with steel.
“You sent Roberto to Death Valley.”
“He agreed to go.”
“He’s a valuable member of our council,” Ezaara snapped. “We need him back.”
“Valuable?” Tonio asked softly, eyes glittering. “To whom?”
Chills raced down her spine. He knew. Antonika had told him. Ezaara turned to Lars. “Lars, I may have come here as an ignorant girl from Lush Valley, but I’m now the Queen’s Rider.”
“And I’m the leader of the council,” he replied, mettle in his blue gaze. “May I remind you that your training as Queen’s Rider will only be complete after the dragon races.”
Ezaara stalked back outside to the snow.
§
Lars met Tonio’s gaze. “If she leaves for Death Valley again, she could jeopardize Queen Zaarusha’s life. I want eyes and ears on her at all times. Ensure she stays at the hold.”
Tonio’s dark eyes flashed. “Yes, Master Lars. I’ll see to it.” His boots clicked on stone and he shut the door.
Lars dropped his head in his hands. He’d expected Ezaara to be contrite, not attack him and the council, but after everything they’d put her and Roberto through, he couldn’t blame her. So, why had he been so harsh?
Because Tonio’s endless goading and insidious comments were eating away at him—that’s why. Yet Tonio was hardly impartial where Roberto was concerned.
Lydia came over, putting her arm around his shoulders. “I heard all of that. Tough situation.”
“In the name of the sharding Egg, Lydia, I don’t want to condemn Roberto, but I have no choice. He and Ezaara are in love.”
“Do you remember when we fell in love? she asked softly.
“Yes, I do.” He chuckled. “Your father wasn’t very happy, was he?”
“No, the last thing he wanted was me hand-fasted to a dragon rider.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. “But we defied him and ran away to be together. It took years for him to forgive us. Do you regret it?”
“No, but this is the Queen’s Rider,” Lars said.
“Even more reason to let her lead the way she wants to,” Lydia answered.
“Tonio willingly sent Roberto to Death Valley. We know he has an ulterior motive.”
“His grudge is influencing him,” said Lydia. “Amato hurt him grievously, but Amato’s been dead for years. And Roberto is not his father.” Lydia retreated.
Lars stared into the crackling fire. Tonio was a sharding good spymaster and his instincts were usually right. As council leader, his hands were tied. The law was the law. He had no choice but to act upon Tonio’s counsel.
Strangleton
Fenni shivered as the chilly air brushed his naked skin. Narrow shafts of moonlight cut through the trees, illuminating a white quilt of snow that hugged the ground all the way to the edge of the river.
Master Giddi stowed Fenni’s clothes in their tent under the strongwood trees. “Master your magic to warm yourself,” he said, coming back to the river’s edge. “Fenni, this is all about control. If you can master this, you can do anything with fire. Harness sathir and shape it to your needs.”
His need was to kill tharuks. Fenni glanced over his shoulder, just in case.
“It’s all right, there aren’t any monsters around,” Master Giddi said.
That was a relief. Being caught naked by tharuks wouldn’t be fun. Lit by the moon, Fenni’s breath gusted out of his lungs in a silvery clou
d. He lifted his ribs. Air rushed into his lungs, filling them. Now was as good a time as ever. He plunged headfirst into the dark water.
The shock nearly knocked the air from his lungs, but he held it in, warring with his instinct to scramble out. Master your magic to warm yourself? Master Giddi was crazy. The only thing he’d master was his death.
Warmth flickered inside Fenni, spreading outward from his core to his limbs. Impossible—unless … yes, it was Master Giddi, helping him combat the freezing river.
Hair swirling in the water, Fenni felt the sathir in the river’s fish and plants, and harnessed the energy. Soon, green flickers shot from his fingers and a fireball grew between his hands. Fire underwater? Not as impossible as he’d thought. A fish, attracted by the light, shot past him. Fenni’s fireball died.
“Concentrate!” Giddi’s reproach blasted through his mind.
Fenni kicked up for the surface. His head broke into the chilly air.
“A fish? A fish knocked you out of your rhythm?” Giddi boomed.
Thank the Egg, no one was around to hear him. Highly embarrassing.
“What if you lose focus when you’re facing a stinking tharuk? Get back underwater.”
Fenni gulped in air, and dived back under, starting over. First sparks, then a fireball. He played, shooting fire between his hands. Not bad.
“Bring it to the surface,” Master Giddi mind-melded.
It was strange hearing the master mage’s voice in his head. Rumors said Giddi could mind-meld with anyone and any dragon—that’s how he’d received the title Dragon Mage.
Fenni pushed the fireball out of the river, into the air, but it vanished.
“It takes high-level mastery to switch between elements,” said Master Giddi. “Down you go again.”
Weeds swirled around him as he settled on the riverbed. Flame it, he had to prove himself. When his fireball was a seething mass of molten flame, he kicked off the bottom. Weeds brushed his legs as the fire roiled, shooting toward the surface. He could do this.
Something yanked Fenni’s legs, nearly pulling his hips from his sockets. Tendrils were tangled around his calves. He kicked, but the weeds gripped tighter, dragging him down. His lungs strained. Was Master Giddi testing him? Using sathir, he thrust the fireball upward. It broke the surface then fell back, sizzling in the water. He’d done it. Now, Master Giddi would free him.
The stranglehold on his legs tightened, his flesh searing. Fenni snatched at the tendrils, trying to pull himself free. More weeds snaked out of the murky water, wrapping around his arms, his chest and neck. His chest spasmed. He was losing air. This was no test from Master Giddi. It was a strangleton.
Reeled down like a hooked fish, Fenni thrashed. The monster plant’s grip constricted, threatening to squeeze the last air from his lungs. Fenni tensed his chest. His muscles burned, screaming at him to open his mouth and breathe in the muddy water. By the dragon gods, he’d never avenge Uncle Fennock now. Desperate, he flung his remaining firepower at the strangleton before everything went black.
§
Light sneaked through a chink in the tent door. Fenni rubbed his eyes and tried to sit up, but pain shot across his chest and back. He pulled back the covers and lifted his shirt. Angry red marks scored his chest and sides, and he ached all over.
On the bedroll next to him, Master Giddi stirred. “About time you woke.”
Not a word about what had happened. Shards, his master was tough. “That was a strangleton. I nearly drowned.”
“Your fireball was a great signal. Good thinking. I was fighting a tharuk tracker or I would’ve got to you quicker. Sorry.” His master tossed him a pot of healing salve. “Here, rub this on your chest and legs. I’ll do your back when you’re done.”
Fenni smeared salve on his chest, breathing in peppermint. “Last night, you said there were no tharuks around.”
Giddi’s gaze was fierce beneath his dark, bushy eyebrows. “Well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?” He rolled up his bedding with sharp angry movements, muttering, “Often happens, sometimes with disastrous consequences. You’re lucky you’re alive.”
“How?” Fenni massaged the salve into his aching legs.
“You seared the thing’s tentacles off with fire, but I had to fish you out.” Giddi tied his bedding with a short length of rope. “You’ve mastered fire, by the way. Although more practice never hurt anyone. Let me look at your chest.” Master Giddi grunted and lifted Fenni’s shirt, prodding his livid bruising. “Luckily, nothing’s broken. How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” Fenni sighed. “I messed up, didn’t I?”
“To the contrary. I’m happy with your progress. You survived a strangleton—something few can claim.” Giddi shooed Fenni out of the tent and rolled up his bedding.
Fenni chuckled. His master must be concerned if he was packing up his gear.
Giddi’s head appeared at the tent door. “If you’re laughing, you’re well enough to help. Here, throw these in the saddlebags.”
Fenni caught the bedrolls, groaning.
“And while you’re at it, give me a hand to roll this tent up.” Giddi snapped his fingers at their fireplace. Within the ring of stones, green wizard flame licked at the wood, and soon, a fire was blazing.
Fenni filled a pot at the river and put it on the fire, sprinkling oats, herbs and cheese chunks in the water.
“That’ll be a hearty wizard porridge, Fenni,” Master Giddi mumbled, shaping the fire’s flames into dragons, their fiery tongues licking at the base of the pot until the porridge was bubbling.
“How did you do that?”
“This?” Master Giddi waved a hand and the fiery dragons circled the pot and disappeared in a shower of sparks. His control over mage flame was absolute. “Years of underwater practice.”
Fenni sighed. He was such a raw beginner. At the last trials, he’d covered up by excelling with water and wind, but he couldn’t do that now. These wizard duels were his final trial. If he didn’t show he’d mastered fire, the wizard council would never let him fight tharuks on his own.
After they’d eaten, they swung onto their horses. “We’ll be at Mage Gate later today,” Master Giddi said. “You can practice on horseback on the way. But whatever you do, don’t harm the spangles. They don’t like rogue mage flame.”
“So it’s true.” Fenni trailed Master Giddi through the trees. “There are spangles in Great Spanglewood Forest.”
“Of course there are, my boy.”
At seventeen summers, Fenni was hardly a boy, but he wasn’t about to argue. “And is it true they’re magic?”
“Aye.” Master Giddi guided his horse to the foot of a hill.
Rocks rose steeply on either side of the trail as they started the trek over the pass that cut through the northern end of Great Spanglewood Forest. Fenni glanced behind them as they left the tree line. Spangles? Then how come none of the trees glimmered the way the legends said they would? Was his master telling him a tall tale? Or was he serious?
Gossip
Ezaara’s body slammed against the wall, the back of her skull cracking on stone. Hot blood trickled down her neck. She woke, soaked in sweat, panting.
She clutched the crystal at her neck—warm against her fingers and skin. Soothing. Her nightmares were so vivid—as if she were living them. But in them, she wasn’t herself. Her hands were different. Her limbs were rangier, and she felt more solid. Like she was experiencing the world through someone else’s body.
She was so tired. Zens stalked her dreams, never letting her sleep—but it was nothing compared to what Roberto would be going through. She had to convince the council to rescue him before it was too late. Ezaara flipped back the covers and got out of bed, shivering in her sweat-drenched nightdress.
“You need a hot bath to soothe you,” Zaarusha melded. “The council members are still sleeping, so you have time.” She snaked her head through the archway and shot flames at the pile of wood under Ezaara’s bathtub, then breathed on the wat
er and the outside of the metal tub.
“Thank you, Zaarusha, you take such good care of me.” Ezaara rubbed Zaarusha’s snout.
The queen butted Ezaara’s stomach. “You’re doing your best to take care of Dragons’ Realm. I need you at my side.”
“And I need Roberto at mine.”
“We’ll get him, but I’d rather have the sanction of the council than have you fighting them. If we’re going to defeat Zens we need to be united.”
Ezaara pulled off her nightdress and climbed into the steaming water. “And if they won’t rescue him?”
“They will.” Zaarusha’s scales bristled. “And if they don’t, we’ll go together.”
An hour later, Ezaara was seated in the council meeting. Absently, she clutched her pendant. It was cool now, not warm at all. Roberto’s bloodied face flashed to mind.
Tonio’s gaze sharpened, resting upon the crystal at her neck. “That’s an interesting bauble. Where did you get it?”
Everyone stared at her necklace. Ezaara didn’t like his carefully-casual tone. She tucked the necklace back under her jerkin. Had Tonio recognized the Naobian craftsmanship? Did he suspect Roberto had given it to her? “My jewelry is immaterial to the matter at hand. We’ve called this council meeting to discuss rescuing Master Roberto from Death Valley.”
“Thank you, my honored Queen’s Rider.” Lars nodded, formally. “Erob is home, as we desired, however, he’s still recovering from his injuries. This afternoon, when he’s rested, Master Tonio will mind-meld with Erob and Maazini to gather information regarding Roberto’s capture. This is of utmost priority.”
The spymaster nodded. “My honored Queen’s Rider and council, we must rescue Master Roberto as soon as possible.”
Ezaara’s jaw snapped shut. She’d been ready to fight them, all her arguments lined up: how Tonio had insisted Roberto go; the value of Roberto’s role on the council; how she could guide them to the right place in Death Valley …
Now Tonio agreed with her?
Lars nodded. “I concur. All in favor of Roberto’s rescue, raise their hands.”
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 71