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

by Eileen Mueller

  Marlies yawned and settled her tired bones into a chair. Waiting until Sofia was dozing soundly, she lifted the young woman’s clothing up over her stomach to inspect her skin. Nothing. No irregularities. She ran her hands over Sofia’s arms. All fine. Checked her legs through her breeches. Her fingers traced an irregular bump on Sofia’s right thigh.

  Marlies fetched a torch and mounted it on the sconce above Sofia’s pallet. She slit the side of Sofia’s breeches. A puckered scar marred Sofia’s thigh, badly stitched, with a distinct bump under the scar tissue. She ran her fingers gently over the bump several times, nodding grimly. “Leah,” she murmured, “fetch me the knife I use for lancing blisters.”

  Wide-eyed, Leah fetched the blade. “Does she have a crow crystal?”

  “Let’s see.” Marlies made an incision along the scar tissue. Pressing firmly with the flat of her blade, Marlies pushed the lump under Sofia’s skin toward the incision. Blood oozed out of the cut, then something yellow glinted. She squeezed the flesh. A crystal the size of Marlies’ thumb slid out of Sofia’s thigh in a trickle of blood. Using a cloth, Marlies deposited the crystal into a jar and corked it. How sharding awful. Zens was controlling innocent people around them. Her stomach roiled. Who else was affected?

  She melded with Liesar. “Give this to Singlar. Lars ought to see this.”

  Leah took the jar out to Liesar while Marlies stitched Sofia’s wound shut.

  Soon, Lars bustled into the infirmary, holding up the jar. “Master Roberto mentioned that these were dangerous. I thought we’d destroyed them all.”

  “Zens has been controlling Sofia,” Marlies replied. “He’s infiltrated Dragons’ Hold by having Fleur plant them inside people as she healed them.”

  “That makes sense. Ezaara accidentally knifed Sofia, but her attitude only went downhill after Fleur healed her.” Lars drummed his fingers against the jar. “We’ll have to check everyone. We can’t let this get out. We can’t have people turning against each other, seeking implanted crystals.”

  “Bill, a tharuk spy, has a similar bump on his arm. Zens must be controlling him too.” Marlies bit her lip. “Let’s start with the people most recently healed by Fleur.” So much work ahead of her, when her bones already ached with exhaustion.

  “The dragon gods forbid,” said Lars, his hand hovering over his sword. “The hold could be crawling with spies—people we love and trust.”

  §

  Lars outlined the danger of the crystal implants, reported Ezaara and Adelina’s disappearances, then smacked his gavel to end the meeting. Hans caught Lars’ eye. He glanced at the door, then left the council chambers. Lars followed, striding to meet him on the ledge outside.

  “Thank you, Lars. I wanted to talk alone.”

  “What is it? Has Marlies found more riders with implanted crystals?”

  Hans shook his head. “Not yet, and she’s worked herself to the bone, checking twenty people already.” And she’d been tired before she’d started. “No, it’s something else, but just as grave. Tomaaz and Kierion left yesterday for Death Valley.”

  “Dragon’s bleeding talons,” Lars thundered. “Now they’re gone too.” He shot Hans an astute look. “Who else?”

  “Lovina said they’ve taken two wizards with them.”

  “Great.” He snorted. “Two young wizards to mess up their chances.”

  The visions that had been plaguing Hans for many nights roiled in his mind. Mages on dragonback amid whistling arrows. And tharuks sizzling with green mage flame. Hans put his hand on Lars’ arm. “Lars, as master of prophecy, I’m telling you we must work with mages, not shun them. This team is our best chance of rescuing Roberto, Adelina, and Ezaara.”

  His only daughter, deep in Zens’ territory. Thank the Egg, Tomaaz had gone, but he’d be in danger too. He’d barely made it home last time.

  Would the twins return? Hans’ visions had been silent on that front.

  Devil’s Choice

  For an agonizing two days, Zens sent black-eyed tharuk mind-benders into Roberto’s chamber, trying to break him. Unable to stand watching Roberto gripping his head and writhing on the floor, Ezaara searched the passages for an escape route.

  The warren of tunnels led to cave-ins or back to the main tunnel, constantly swarming with tharuks. Useless—there was no way out.

  When she returned to her vigil at the chink in the wall, Roberto was moaning, conscious again. He raised his head from the floor, stared straight at the fissure and mouthed, “Help.”

  It was all Ezaara needed. She’d already taken freshweed and owl’s wort. She crawled along the tunnel, making her way toward the ventilation shaft to Roberto. Halfway there, snuffling slunk along the tunnel behind her. Tharuks. She scrambled to the ventilation shaft. Hoisted herself inside the narrow opening.

  She stopped around the first bend, wrapping her camouflage cloak around her. Hopefully, the shaft entrance was too small for the beast. Quietening her breath, she strained, listening.

  Tharuk stench wafted along the shaft. Her taste buds writhed.

  Did it know she was here? With freshweed and her camouflage cloak, she should be undetectable. Was this a random coincidence? The beast’s boots scraped on the tunnel walls. Its harsh breathing rasped along the shaft. Ezaara’s blood ran cold. She drew her knife from her boot.

  The tharuk grunted and wheezed. Thrashing and thumps echoed along the shaft. The beast wasn’t getting any closer. Knife at the ready, Ezaara cocked her head. She peeked around the bend. Even with owl wort, it was too dark. Knife between her teeth, she shook her vial of dragon’s breath, holding it up. The bright light revealed a tharuk wedged tight in the shaft’s mouth. It snarled, its arms shooting up to cover its eyes—her light was blinding it.

  “Smelled your bread, I did,” it grunted.

  Oh, shards, she’d dropped a scrap of bread in the tunnel.

  As it lowered its arms, Ezaara rushed forward, plunging her knife into its eye, ramming hard. The knife sunk through the soft gelatinous tissue into the beast’s skull. The monster’s arms flailed, claws swiping her forearm.

  Its head and arms slumped to the stone. Dark blood gushed over the rock.

  Gritting her teeth against her stinging arm, Ezaara scrambled back and leaned against the wall. Taking a rag from her pouch, she bound her arm. Although the gash was searing, she didn’t dare use piaua. She had to save it for Roberto. The shaft entrance was now blocked from pursuers—but so was her escape. Ezaara doused her light and crawled on through the dark. The ventilation shaft twisted then angled downward, growing lighter. Just around the bend and she’d be there.

  Cautiously, she reached out for Roberto. “Are you still alone?”

  The crash of his door against stone answered that question.

  Ezaara tugged her cloak around her and crouched, motionless.

  “There it is, again.” 000’s foul voice drifted up the shaft. “That same scent as from the small tunnel. What did 1352 find?”

  “Bread? 1352 still searching,” a grunt answered.

  “That runt has a keen nose,” said 000. Boots tromped toward the shaft. “What’s this?”

  “A scrap of cloth, sir.”

  Oh gods, the fragment of her cloak.

  “I know that, 1554.” There was a thump.

  The tharuk grunt whimpered. “I can fit in shaft. I is small.”

  “Good idea.” Feet neared. Scrapes sounded on the wall.

  Ezaara had heard enough—she fled through the shaft in the dark, bashing her knees and scraping her hands. Soon, her hand hit a furry mass—the dead tharuks’ arm. She shoved it aside and braced her feet against the shaft wall. Leaning her back into the corpse’s head, Ezaara shoved. It didn’t budge. She pushed again, but the corpse was stuck.

  Ominous shuffling reached Ezaara’s ears. 1554 was heading toward her. Frantically, Ezaara thrust her shoulder at the jammed corpse. She slid her knife between the beast and the stone, trying to jimmy the monster out of the way.

  Har
sh breathing came around the corner. 1554’s fetid breath filled the tunnel. Ezaara lunged, thrusting her knife. The tharuk grunt slashed. Her knife clattered to the stone. She groped for it. 1554 punched her temple. Her head smacked the wall, and pain ricocheted through her skull. Dizzy. She was so dizzy.

  Shuffling backward, 1554 dragged her along the shaft by the throat and hair.

  Ezaara’s scalp burned. She curled up, trying to kick the tharuk, but it yanked her hair harder. She screamed.

  “Quiet.” It tightened its grip on her throat until her breath rasped.

  So much for rescuing Roberto.

  §

  000 held Ezaara by the scruff of her neck, her legs dangling above the floor. Her jerkin cut into her throat, making it hard to breathe. Not that she’d want to in this stench.

  Commander Zens smiled, his bulbous yellow eyes cold. His calculating gaze skittered across her skin. He stretched out his hand. “So, breathing distasteful, is it?” His voice wended through her mind. “Perhaps you’d prefer not to breathe?” He slowly clenched his fist.

  Ezaara’s throat tightened. She let out a gurgle, fingers clutching at her neck. Her lungs burned. Gods, no air.

  “Drop her, Triple.” Zens laughed, flinging his hand open.

  Ezaara smacked stone. Her chest heaved as breath rushed back into her lungs. She’d panicked and forgotten her mental defenses. Zens was a monster—a power-hungry sick being, playing with people’s lives. She scrambled to her feet. While Zens was focused on her, he wasn’t torturing Roberto.

  “Stand still.” Zens barked. “Why are you here?”

  Ezaara remembered her favorite tree in Lush Valley; the bark against her cheek; a breeze rustling through the bright green leaves. She held the image fast in her mind, stilling Zens’ voice.

  Zens growled, flipping his hand.

  Ezaara flew into a wall, slamming her shoulder against the granite. She had to tell him something or he’d destroy her. Climbing to her feet, Ezaara answered, “I’m here to rescue Roberto.”

  Zens guffawed. “He doesn’t need rescuing. He’s here of his own accord.” Zens flicked his finger. Roberto’s body twitched. “Roberto’s here to do my bidding.” Flashing his teeth in a manic grin, Zens flung Roberto into the air, holding him there, then slowly lowered him to the ground. “I can slam him so hard, I’ll break every bone in his body. So, tell me, who are you?”

  Zens was lying. Roberto hadn’t come here willingly. She’d mistrusted him at his banishment, and he’d nearly died. She’d never make that mistake again.

  Zens’ mind shuddered into hers, but she blocked him.

  “Talented, are you?” Zens sneered. “We’ll see just how little talent you have.”

  Searing heat rippled across Ezaara’s skin. A wave of nausea roiled over her. She clamped down, forcing it out. The tree. Breeze. Leaves rustling.

  He hammered at her head, booming like a battle drum. Pounding her skull.

  The tree slipped away. She needed something more tangible, immediate. Ezaara fixed on Roberto, bloodied, on the floor.

  “So, he’s important to you? Why?”

  It was useless to deny it. She had to give Zens something, or he’d never let up. But not the whole truth. “I’m his trainee dragon rider. I wanted to save him.” She sighed, making her lower lip tremble. “I’ve obviously failed.” Hopefully, he’d buy it, not realize her strength.

  Zens just laughed. “You have a sense of humor, too.”

  He’d seen right through her little act.

  Zens sat in a chair, crossed his legs, and pounded her mind like a battering ram.

  §

  Ezaara woke as fists hammered on the door. Gods, not another day in this forsaken place. Her mouth was parched and she was weak from hunger.

  Zens had left last night, but he was back in his chair. Roberto was clasping his head, sweat rolling down his forehead. No doubt, Zens doing. “Open that please, Triple,” Zens said.

  000 strode over and opened the door. Two tharuks entered, holding a grubby, battered Adelina.

  Ezaara instantly blocked her mind, fixating on the flickering torch. If Zens realized they knew Adelina, he’d torture her to get them to talk.

  Zens’ sadistic smile was sickening. Pointing a finger at Adelina, he twitched it.

  Eyes wide, her chin shot up.

  “I recognize you from Amato’s memories,” he said. “You’re Roberto’s little sister.”

  “Am not.” Adelina thrust her shoulders back, defiant.

  A thin man entered the cavern, closing the door—Old Bill, Lovina’s former slave master.

  Ezaara turned her face away so he wouldn’t recognize her.

  “Beloved Commander Zens.” Bill rubbed his hands together. “Twice this week, I saw a flash in the night sky. Stinking winged lizards, I thought. I summoned 743 and 567 to help me catch this Naobian girl.” He licked his lips. “She’d make me a good slave. I lost my last one.” Bill paced around Adelina, looking her over.

  Then he saw Ezaara. “My highly-esteemed commander, I must congratulate you for capturing the new Queen’s Rider.”

  “Queen’s Rider?” Zens lifted an eyebrow. “Explain how you know her.” His disdain for Bill was barely veiled.

  Bill gave a fawning, sickening smile. “Beloved Commander, I was traveling through Lush Valley, spying for you and 458, when she left with the stinking queen of lizards. Her parents were riders, hiding in Lush Valley.”

  “000, reward him. Dismissed.” Zens waved Bill and the grunts away. With ice in his voice, he commanded, “Roberto, stand.”

  Roberto hobbled to his feet. Ezaara’s chest squeezed. Gods, he looked so weak, favoring his shackled leg, and cradling an arm against his side.

  “Since you’re proving so hard to break, we’ll have some fun,” Zens said. “Who would you prefer that I torture? The Queen’s Rider? Or your little sister?”

  Weakness

  By the dragon gods, what a choice: his lover or his sister? There was no guarantee Zens wouldn’t torture both. Or kill them, just to make him suffer. A chill spread through Roberto as Zens prowled toward his sister. Adelina’s body jerked and went rigid. Her face contorted in a silent scream. Her hands clutched at her throat, nails drawing blood. Suddenly, she crumpled in a heap on the stone, gasping.

  Roberto’s gut tied itself in knots. No, not his sister. He’d spent his life protecting her.

  Zens’ gaze flicked to Ezaara, his lips twisting in a sneer. “So, Roberto, let’s examine the Queen’s Rider.” The commander caressed her cheek with a fingertip. Roberto’s skin crawled, but Ezaara didn’t even flinch.

  Roberto clamped down the rage seething inside him. If Zens suspected he loved Ezaara, he’d hurt more her to get to him. Zens wanted to break him, to prove to himself that he could master the only person who’d escaped his power.

  If only Zens had a weakness he could exploit. He had to laugh at himself, looking for a weakness when he was chained, drugged and weak from torture.

  Hang on, Zens’ nightmare had shown Roberto his biggest weakness. His eyes flitted around the room. Now, if only he could use it.

  Adelina was lying there, as if she was asleep, the blood on her neck glistening in the torchlight.

  “A pretty one, this time,” murmured Zens, eyes roving over Ezaara.

  Shards, no. The hairs on Roberto’s neck prickled.

  “No one told me how attractive you were,” Zens purred.

  A keen mental energy hovered near Roberto’s mind. Zens was gauging him, sensing his reactions as he walked around Ezaara, assessing her like a prime head of beef at the market.

  Roberto wanted to rip Zens’ head off, but he forced himself to breathe calmly and think of summer days, fishing off the coast of Naobia.

  “Oh, Commander.” Ezaara laughed. “No one ever told me how handsome you are. How utterly devastating. They’d painted you as a monster, but now I see your true colors—your consummate use of power for the good of Dragons’ Realm. I’m sure Zaarusha w
ill agree to your suggestion of returning to Dragons’ Hold with us, to rule at my side.”

  Sharding talons, Ezaara looked as if she meant it.

  Zens paused mid-stride, cocking his head.

  Roberto held his breath. What was going on?

  Baring his teeth, Zens snarled, “You despise me.” His voice turned as hard as flint. “You profess your love verbally, while secretly thinking I’m despicable.” Without warning, he flicked his hand and Ezaara slammed into the granite wall head first with a nauseating crunch. She landed with her neck at an odd angle.

  Gods, was she dead? A black hole ripped through Roberto’s chest. As he struggled to contain his horror, his barricade against Zens disintegrated.

  Zens loomed in his mind, stripping away his defenses, laying his emotions bare. “So, you love her? Let’s torture her some more.”

  “No,” Roberto yelled, the chains gnawing his flesh as he strained to get free. Not the two people he loved most. The only family he had.

  Zens flung his hand out. Roberto flew into the air. His chains strained, threatening to snap their fixtures out of the wall.

  “Love the Queen’s Rider, do you?” Zens sneered. “And I thought I’d cured you of weak emotions.”

  “Cured me?”

  “Surely, having your father beat you prevented you from trusting people, Roberto?” Zens spun him a half turn in the air, his voice worming its way through the caverns of self-doubt the commander had carved through his soul years before. “Amato was clever, he hid Adelina’s existence from me, but, in a weak moment, he revealed he had another whelp. So, I forced him to beat her.” Zens laughed. “No one—not even his own flesh and blood—came between us. I mastered him, making him murder his own wife.”

  Amato had tried to stand up to Zens and failed. He’d always assumed his father had been an eager accomplice. A chill skittered down Roberto’s spine. Zens was a monster.

  “Your father loved you, until I cured him of it.”

  He did remember his father loving him. But what good had it done him? Under Zens’ power, Amato had killed the woman he loved, and driven his littlings to hate him.