Dragon Rift: Riders of Fire, Book Three - A Dragons’ Realm Novel

by Eileen Mueller

  Her eyes roamed his face and fell to his lips. Her breath caressed his cheek as he leaned down. And as his lips touched hers, Lovina gave a tiny gasp—the sweetest sound Tomaaz had ever heard.

  Then they were kissing. That same wonder bubbled up inside him, like a glorious secret bursting into the sunlight. This was home. This woman, right here, was where he belonged.

  Tomaaz drew back to look at Lovina. She was still so physically fragile, yet so strong to have survived Zens’ slave camp and years as Old Bill’s slave. Abused and drugged by Bill, she’d hidden behind a drab curtain of lank hair, tatty clothes and been dazed by numlock. She’d barely spoken a handful of words in the years he’d known her. Until he’d helped her escape Bill’s clutches. Then, little by little, he’d grown to know her. His heart stuttered when he thought of how hard her life had been, how lucky he was to have her, how easily she could’ve been killed. “Lovina, you’re so beautiful. I …” He shook his head staring at her, unsure of what he wanted to say. “I, uh, I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

  “Neither have I.” Her cornflower eyes caressed his face, then she frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m remembering you, so if Zens catches you when you’re rescuing Erob, at least I’ll have my memories.”

  He hugged her again, fiercely. “No. I won’t let Zens ever separate us. I’ll be back. I’m coming home to you.”

  They entered Tomaaz’s family’s cavern, next to the infirmary.

  “Hello, Lovina.” Pa embraced him. “Son, well done, getting home. Lars has told me to let you rest for a few hours and that we’ll head out at dusk. I guess you’ll want to see the boy?”

  Tomaaz nodded. “How’s he been?”

  “Still has broken sleep.” Pa shrugged. “Not much we can do about that, but your mother’s trying her best. I’ve taken him out on Handel a few times, and he seems to like that, not that he’s spoken yet.”

  “Even after all these weeks?”

  “He’s still mute,” Lovina said. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time with him while you’ve been gone.”

  Pa nodded. “You’ve done a great job, Lovina.” He gestured through their caverns toward the mountainside. “He’s out on the ledge with Handel now.”

  Lovina hung back, hesitating.

  “Come on.” Tomaaz took her hand and they walked past the two smaller sleeping caverns, through the living chamber, to the ledge outside.

  The boy was resting against Handel, eyes closed, the wan sunlight bathing his features, an arm flung over Handel’s foreleg.

  While they were in the council meeting, Maazini must’ve flown the short distance here, because there was a hillock of orange scales beyond Handel’s tail. Tomaaz melded, but Maazini was sleeping too deeply to rouse.

  As they approached, the boy’s eyes flew open, and he threw his arms up protectively, as if someone was about to beat him.

  “It’s all right. It’s just Tomaaz. He’s come home to see you,” Lovina crooned, slowing her pace.

  The boy’s eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet and shot toward Tomaaz, like an arrow to a target. Flinging his scrawny arms around Tomaaz’s ribs, he burrowed his head into Tomaaz’s midriff.

  “Whoa,” Tomaaz said, ruffling his hair. “I’m glad to see you too, buddy.” He hoisted him up off his feet and hugged him, then he strode over to Handel, placing a hand on his warm scales so he could mind-meld. “He seems to like you. Are you all right for us to sit here too?”

  “Sure, Tomaaz. Welcome back to Dragons’ Hold.” Handel lowered his neck, his keen green eyes regarding him.

  He and Lovina sat, leaning against Handel’s back. Tomaaz cradled the boy on his lap, keeping his voice low as he spoke to him. “I’m so glad to see you. I know I’ve been gone a while and you must’ve been worrying about whether I’d come back. I’m home now.”

  Tentatively, the boy reached his palm up to Tomaaz’s face and cupped his cheek.

  Lovina sucked her breath in. “That’s the first time he’s done that,” she said.

  “You know you’re safe with us, don’t you?” Tomaaz asked. The memory of the boy’s beaten and bloody back flashed to mind. He’d been so frail and light, lifting him had been less effort than carrying a small sack of carrots as Tomaaz had smuggled him out of the slave’s sleeping quarters, past tharuks, to the cave where Maazini had been held captive. And now he had to rescue another dragon. “You know how we saved the orange dragon, Maazini?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Well, there’s a blue dragon, Erob, who’s been injured by tharuks, just like you were. I know I’ve just returned, but I need to help save him, so I’ll be leaving again soon.”

  The boy shook his head, his hands clutching at Tomaaz’s clothes.

  Tomaaz hugged him tight again, gazing at Lovina over the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, buddy. I have to go again, but I’ll be back.”

  His whole life had become one long series of farewells and danger.

  Wizardry

  The chill seeped through Fenni’s breeches, slowly making his backside numb. He’d thought his folded cloak would combat the cold, but he’d been here so long the snow had penetrated the thick layers. Trying again, he held his hands a body-width apart, green sparks flitting between them. His brow furrowed in concentration as he drew his palms apart. Bright green sparks flew from hand to hand. Fenni smiled. Just a little wider now. He pulled his hands further apart. With a fizzle, the sparks died, leaving him with nothing but air between his palms—and cold air at that.

  Dragon’s manky breath! What would it take to get this right? He kicked a clump of snow onto the thin layer of ice coating the stream below. The ice broke with a satisfying crack. He held up his hands again.

  Snow or no snow, he would not give in. He was never going to pass wizard training and be able to battle tharuks if he couldn’t master fire. His uncle’s dead face haunted him—he’d been mauled by tharuks and his death had been ugly. Fenni had vowed to become a mage and avenge him, but the last wizard trials had been a catastrophe. Every other first-year wizard had conjured fireballs except him. Sure, he’d been good with other elements, like wind and water, but he had to control flames too—and real green wizard flames, not just lousy sparks. Wind and water wouldn’t kill a tharuk.

  Hands apart, he tried again. Sweat rolled off his brow as a thick cord of sparks flowed between his palms. This was much better. He willed the sparks to grow, focusing his mind as his wizard master had taught, although that never usually worked for him. When his hands were as wide as he could hold them, he pushed them inward, trying to compress the sparks into a flame.

  He let out a gasp as a burst of fire shot out of his fingers, forming a fireball that roiled between his hands, tongues of green wizard flame licking hungrily at the chilly winter air.

  “Ha, ha. I’ve done it!” Fenni crowed. “Now, Master Giddi will be proud of me.”

  “Will I?” came the austere voice of his master.

  The fireball shrunk and zipped over Fenni’s shoulder, shooting into the master mage’s outstretched hand. Master Giddi extinguished it with his long bony fingers.

  Fenni gulped. His secret was out. “That wasn’t me, was it?” he asked.

  “No, that wasn’t you, Fenni.” Master Giddi raised one of his bushy eyebrows—the ones everyone likened to hairy caterpillars. “But you’re close.”

  No closer than he was nine moons ago. Fenni hadn’t deliberately told any lies, just left out the details, and always insisted on practicing alone. He rose to his feet, shaking off his cloak, and kicked some snow at a tree trunk.

  Those hairy caterpillars now pulled down into a thunderous scowl. Master Giddi’s voice was deadly quiet, almost sinister. “So, all these moons when you’ve been practicing fire, you haven’t even made a flame?”

  “A tiny burst or two.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Giddi thundered. “I could’ve helped you. Fool. Now the mage trials are upon us in a few days
and you’re not ready.”

  “A few days? But spring equinox is three months away.”

  Master Giddi pursed his lips, the familiar sign that a lecture was coming. “Not any more. I just got a messenger bird, so I was coming to tell you the news. With war looming, the Wizard Council’s moved the trials to winter solstice. We need everyone qualified to fight tharuks. We’re leaving for Mage Gate at first light tomorrow.” Master Giddi pointed at Fenni, sparks dripping from his fingers. “You’ve wasted nine moons of your training. You led me to believe your fire skills were fine.” He spat in the snow. “I thought by now you’d be conjuring up walls of flame, or even a fire dragon. That you’d have something worthwhile to show for all those hours.” Master Giddi’s sparks coalesced into a plume of flame. “Do you know what your biggest weakness is?”

  “My fire skills.” Fenni sighed. It was out now. Soon, everyone would know.

  “No, it’s your pride. You worry too much about what others think.”

  Shame washed over Fenni. He’d been embarrassed about his lack of skills, but it was nothing to how he felt now.

  “So, now that you’re ready to learn, hold your hands out and close your eyes. Cast out your consciousness. Sense the forest around you,” Master Giddi said, as if Fenni was a littling, not nearly eighteen summers old.

  Fenni thrust his senses out. Cold feet, rustling leaves …

  “Feel the energy in the core of your being, right down through your feet, connecting with the earth. Sense each tree; the forest as a whole; how everything vibrates with nature’s energy. When you feel that familiar hum of sathir …”

  Fenni opened his eyes. He hadn’t ever told anyone, but he’d never felt the hum that everyone talked about.

  The wizard cocked a bushy eyebrow at Fenni and stared at him for a long moment before saying, “That doesn’t work for you, does it?”

  “Feeling nature’s energy? No, it doesn’t. Never has.”

  “You told me you’d mastered it privately. Why in the Egg’s name didn’t you say something earlier?” Master Giddi snapped. “Stretch a hand out.”

  Fenni sighed. “With all due respect, Master Giddi, I don’t see how—”

  “Quiet.” The master mage’s voice was soft, but, as usual, held power.

  Fenni obeyed, holding a hand up, flinching as Master Giddi touched his freezing little finger with his bony forefinger.

  “Feel that?”

  Fenni’s finger was buzzing. “Yes, I do,” he said. Amazing, it was like a hive of bees in his fingertip.

  “And this?”

  A vibration traveled down his finger into his hand, making his palm tingle too. “Incredible. How did you do that?”

  “Now …” The master mage lifted his finger into the air and Fenni’s finger was pulled up, as if they were attached, until his arm was stretched high. Giddi curled his own fingers into his palm and put them in his cloak pockets.

  Lucky for some, keeping their hands warm.

  “Now, close your eyes again and sense the forest,” Master Giddi said.

  The air around Fenni’s fingers seemed to pulse with life. Weird. Is that what other mages felt? He forced his senses out further, and bit by bit, the hum of the earth vibrated through him. Energy radiated from the strongwood trees, making his skin hum. A creature lumbered through the forest nearby and a surge rushed through him. Fenni snapped his eyes open and let out a whoop. “I can do it. I can feel sathir.”

  Master Giddi threw up his hand, motioning him to be quiet.

  A chilling snarl rang out. Something crashed through the bushes toward them.

  “Tharuks,” hissed Master Giddi. “Hide.”

  Fenni scaled the nearest strongwood and pulled his invisibility cloak around him. Not that it would do much good. His footprints in the snow were a dead giveaway.

  Master Giddi scrambled up after him, but instead of hiding himself in his cloak among the branches, the master mage stood on a sturdy branch, parting the foliage to get a better look.

  Piggy snout twitching, a tharuk lumbered into view. On two legs, its matted fur prevented it from succumbing to the cold. The beast followed Master Giddi’s prints toward the tree, then took a running jump, launching itself at the trunk. Claws sprang from its fingertips in midair. Gripping the bark as it landed, the beast swarmed up the strongwood, the stench of rot wafting over Fenni. His heart pounded.

  Invisibility cloak be cursed. Fenni grabbed his bow, nocked an arrow, and fired. The shot thudded into the strongwood’s trunk, next to the tharuk’s hand. Master Giddi flung flames at the beast, but the foliage was in the way. Fenni shot another arrow, hitting the tharuk’s arm. It shook the arrow off like a mosquito. Beady red eyes boring into Fenni, it swung onto his branch, tusks drooling dark saliva.

  His flame had to work. Now. Fenni desperately tried to sense nature’s energy. He held up his hand to blast a fireball at the tharuk. Green sparks dribbled from his fingers onto the branch, sputtering out—useless.

  A fireball flew past the tharuk’s ear. Master Giddi was aiming at the beast, but the tree trunk was in his way. Master Giddi thudded to the ground, bellowing at the tharuk. The beast ignored Giddi, lunging toward Fenni.

  He scrambled further along the branch. Master Giddi shot an arc of green flame toward the tharuk. It ducked, flinging itself onto its stomach, pulling itself along the bough after Fenni.

  The branch was getting mighty slender, bowing with their weight. Fenni clambered as far as he dared. He fished his knife out of its sheath and flung it at the tharuk just as a fireball blasted the creature off the branch in a trail of flame and smoke. Fenni’s knife thunked into the branch. The tharuk thudded to the snow.

  Heart booming like a drum, Fenni peered down at the dead beast. There was a smoking hole in the side of its torso. The stench of burnt hair and flesh drifted up. He wrinkled his nose and swallowed. That had been a sharding close call—he could’ve been dead meat, like his uncle. “So that’s why mages have to master flame,” he joked shakily.

  Master Giddi gave the beast a nudge with his boot, then looked up. “Indeed,” he replied. “And the sooner you do, the better.”

  §

  Hours later, Fenni was in Giddi’s cabin playing with a tiny green fireball that shot erratically between his fingertips. Surely, now, Master Giddi would be impressed.

  Suddenly, the fireball darted at the master mage’s face. Giddi caught it, snapping his fingers shut around it. Face grim, he raised one of those infamous bushy eyebrows at Fenni.

  “Ah, sorry, I, um …”

  “Not good enough. You think you can kill a tharuk like that? Come on, Fenni, focus. You need drive, precision and more flame. You’ll set half of Great Spanglewood Forest alight if you don’t master this. If you can’t control your own flame, the Wizard Council will never let you loose.”

  Face growing hot, Fenni scuffed his boot on the floorboards, not meeting the master wizard’s eye. Shards, he’d been doing so well.

  “You got distracted and thought of me, so that’s where your fireball went. That won’t do in battle. Now, go and practice outside in the clearing, so you don’t burn my cabin down. I’m not losing my home to a fledgling wizard.”

  Fledgling? Even though he knew Master Giddi was goading him, Fenni rose to the bait. “I’m not a fledgling and you know it. I’ve passed my first trials. I only need to master the fireball.”

  “Good, you’ve got two days.”

  “But two days is—”

  “Yes, I agree, way too long for an experienced wizard like yourself, so I’ll give you a day and a half. Now, outside. Get practicing.”

  “A day and a half?” Fenni spluttered. He strode across the threshold, pulling the door shut. Shards, he’d never do it.

  “Yes, you will. And I want your fireball looping among those trees without damaging a leaf.” Master Giddi’s voice sounded in Fenni’s mind.

  Fenni spun, jaw dropping and pushed the door open. “How did you mind-meld with me?”

 
Eyes crinkling, Giddi laughed.

  “Can you teach me?”

  “Maybe. Master your fireball.”

  “With only two days until trials, I won’t even have time to sleep,” Fenni grumbled.

  Giddi chuckled. “Nothing like a little focus to hone skills. I’ll check your fireball tonight.”

  “Tonight.” Fenni snapped his jaw shut and stalked out the door, leaving it open to the snow.

  “Yes, tonight. There’s more advanced fire training to master, too.”

  Oh shards, he’d fail his trial.

  Snake-tongue

  “You fool,” Lars yelled. “All my archers without arrows for half a day. What would’ve happened if we’d been attacked?” His piercing blue eyes raked Kierion from head to foot.

  “I didn’t think of that, sir.” Kierion made himself meet Lars’ scathing gaze. “It was meant as a prank.” He had to tough this out or the council leader would think even less of him. Playing the fool was one thing, but Kierion prided himself on not being a coward.

  The whole of Dragons’ Hold had been in an uproar that morning when the dragon masters had discovered the arrow flingers had lost their weapons. Well, not all of their weapons. He’d left an arrow or two in each archer’s personal quiver, but he had cleared out the weapons store. Their panic had shocked him out of his playful mood.

  “Imagine tharuks swarming over Dragon’s Teeth and us sitting here weaponless.”

  “I can’t really imagine that, sir,” Kierion said. He been such an idiot. He just hadn’t thought. “I mean, those mountains are the guardians of Dragons’ Hold because they’re impenetrable, but what if our riders had been called away to Montanara or to a village because tharuks had attacked? We could’ve lost lives as a result of my prank.” His neck grew warm as shame washed over him.

  Lars’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. “So, there is a brain rattling around somewhere in your skull.” He shook his head, sighing. “It seems we have three issues here: the longstanding rivalry between sword fighters and archers; your inventive nature; and the grave danger we’re all facing.” He thrummed his fingers against his breeches.