The Emerald Rider (Book Four of the Dragoneer Saga)

by M. R. Mathias

  “I am a dragon rider,” Jenka croaked. “My wyrm is still out there. If I do not return in three days, he will tear your temples to the ground.”

  “A sound threat.” Xerrin Fyl nodded. “Only you’ve been here four days and he has not come raging in to save you.” The wizard shook his head. “You say you seek the statue of the bitch my grandfather baited his trap with, and I am curious as to why?”

  “Her name was Clover, and she was a dragon rider, too. Your grandfather was wrong.” Jenka tried not to sound as if he were pleading, but the lack of Jade, and now the absence of all that Dour had him feeling more vulnerable and afraid by the moment. “Dragons cannot change into human form.”

  Xerrin Fyl considered the idea. “If you are just a dragon rider, I have no use for you.” He squatted down just beyond the reach of Jenka’s boot and looked him in the eye. “I will introduce you to Clover tonight. Fyloch willing, you will join her in petrification for eternity.”

  “Who is this Fyloch?”

  “The most powerful god in all the universes,” the wizard replied. A dreamy gaze passed across his eyes, as if thinking about Fyloch gave him pleasure. “I think he will enjoy you. He gives us glory for battling the darkest of things in our arena.”

  “Why not just let us go?” Jenka asked stupidly. The plea in his voice was undisguisable now, and it made Xerrin Fyl let out a snort of disgust.

  “I am starting to believe you.” The wizard stood. In a dramatic show of disrespect, he hawked and spat on Jenka. “No dragon would seem so cowardly. Fyloch may tire of you before the morrow comes.”

  ***

  In the illumination of a lightning flash, and through the slanting downpour of rain, Jade saw a pair of rock lions floating in the open sea. By the savage teeth marks on one of them, it was clear they were dead. Even as Jade studied them from the dark sky above, the body heat from a fish as long as a canoe, swimming faster than Jade could fly, shot through the water and devoured one of them.

  As the formidable feeder disappeared down into the depths, Jade looked ahead and saw more dead sea-life from the cave. He wondered if Crimzon had gone mad and killed more than he could eat. No, Jade decided, mighty Crimzon could eat rock lions one after the other and probably never be fully sated.

  Jade was worried for Jenka. Not feeling his bond-mate there was like having a hole torn through his insides. He missed his rider and was certain that Jenka needed his strength to get through the old wizard’s trickery. They hadn’t even wondered what happened to the Soulstone Xaffer had used, and Jenka was likely to wind up sitting on the floor dreaming of Zahrellion for days on end. Jade had a bad feeling about it all, and these floating chunks of meat only served to make it worse.

  He was hungry, and he planned to feed in the cavern, but he’d come for Crimzon’s wisdom, too. The old fire drake would help him.

  Jade’s instinct to attack the temple and free his bond-mate was suppressed when he grew near the place. It was warded to repel his kind, but that spell could be broken. All he had to do was face the revulsion and crash through.

  There will be a second spell released if you do that, Jade heard his mamra’s voice speak in his head. The second will stun you, trap you, or end you for good. Find another way.

  The knowledge she had filled him with as she lay dying came to him often. He let her voice guide him. That was the real reason he’d returned to the cave, because she would have told him to do so.

  Jade could see the darkened entrance up ahead, and there were several more floating seals. There were more of the long feeders, too, eating them from underneath.

  A growling, roaring sound forced itself through the noise of the stormy sea, and Jade looked to see a huge sea creature slinking out of the cavern mouth. Alarm washed over him like a tidal wave as he swept into the hole and saw another, larger, one about to bite into the limp red wyrm he revered so much. He instinctually lunged his head at the thing’s eyes and let loose a blast of his hot, noxious spew. The octerror let Crimzon fall into the sloshing black water and made to swat Jade with a tentacle, but Jade dove under it and came down claws first right on the beast’s blubbery bulk.

  Within a matter of seconds Jade scratched a dozen deep furrows into the monster, but the thickness of its hide, and the slippery substance coating it, forced him to take back to the air.

  Jade knew it was hurt. When the next lightning flash came from outside, he saw that at least one side of its bulk was covered in blood. One of its eyes was ruined, but it was still intent on eating Crimzon.

  Jade was slammed then by an unseen limb, causing him to rake a wing on the cavern wall and tumble into the pink, frothy water. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled under. It all happened so fast he could barely blink. He tried to struggle, but a tentacle was wrapped around his neck and shoulders so tightly that he couldn’t think. He saw, in a flash of lightning, Crimzon’s huge body being bashed against the rocks over and over again. Then he was taken under.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What are they, again?” Rikky asked Herald and Linux.

  They were in one of the three market squares inside the city walls of Mainsted, standing at the fringes of a crowd gathering around a person staked to a pole atop a pile of hay bales. They’d come to the square to use Linux as bait, but this scene was already unfolding when they arrived. Standing up on the first layer of bales was a trio of well-groomed men wearing cloaks as black as night. They had their hands on the hilts of their swords and seemed as if they’d have no hesitation making an example of the first person who grew unruly in the crowd.

  “Grimwielders, lad. Shhh.” Herald hushed him so he could hear what the leader was saying.

  “Linux, what are Grimwielders?” Rikky persisted, noticing several other of the black-cloaked men guarding the pyre circle.

  Herald glared at him, but Linux explained in a whisper that carried to Rikky in the ethereal.

  They are a guild of thieves, assassins, and such. They’ve been around since the beginning, earning their coins in the shadows for whoever can afford their services. Mysterian once told Vax Noffa and me that the Hazeltine used them sometimes when they needed muscle. I know for certain King Blanchard used them. This is unusual, though, for they’ve never acted publicly before.

  Rikky pulled on Linux’s sleeve. Only when the High Master Druid met his gaze did he voice his mind. I’ll not let them burn that man. No matter what he did.

  Not even if he is a murderer or a rapist?

  Not until he’s been judged guilty of such a crime by his queen. Rikky’s ethereal voice was firm.

  We are not in the Frontier, Rikky. Zahrellion has no sway. Richard doesn’t care, either. This is how justice is handled here now, though it does not appear that this gathering is about justice at all. Listen… they are saying that the man is a druid of Dou, that he was caught trying to buy menstrual rags to use in casting spells. He most certainly is no druid.

  Rikky scrunched up his face but remembered Master Kember using the rags of village women to attract bucks during the rut. It seemed disgusting, but it was one of the best ways to draw in a big one. He listened to the Grimwielder’s accusations and grew angrier by the moment. The man strapped to the pole was pleading for his life.

  The Grimwielders jumped down and a whoosh erupted, sending smoke and sparks billowing up. The crowd all gasped and stepped back, save for Rikky, who was hobbling as fast as he could on his peg leg away from the gathering.

  ***

  Linux watched Rikky go for a moment and then started forcing his way through the people toward the growing blaze. He grabbed Herald by the sleeve and pulled him. Another gasp was heard, but only from the few who had been looking away from the fire. Linux already knew the cause of it and kept moving toward the staked man.

  “I’ve got three daughters,” the man screamed. “PLEEEEAAAASSSE! Ah! Ah! I feel it!”

  Herald apparently understood the situation, for Linux heard the ranger’s steel ring free. Then Linux shouldered pa
st the Grimwielder before him and unleashed a spell that suppressed the flames just long enough for Silva and Rikky to come swooping by and snatch the man, stake and all, from the middle of it.

  The crowd was screaming then. The tight, empty circle of people was suddenly thrice its diameter, for here came Silva spewing forth a molten gout of liquid goo that hardened into a pewter-like metal over the extinguished blaze.

  Herald and Linux ran to the edge of it, and Silva let the staked man down near them before stepping up onto his self-made pedestal. Linux began knifing the ropes loose with his dagger, while Herald stood over them.

  Where the man had just been tied to a post and surrounded by flame, the silver dragon reared up and spread its wings in a show of sheer dominance. Even though he was on their side, Linux was terrified by this. She might be the smallest of the Dragoneer wyrms, but Silva was as powerful as any of them.

  The roar that followed was thin, for it came from Rikky, not his dragon, yet it was no less fierce than Silva’s call would have been.

  Linux almost laughed at the boy.

  Everyone was fleeing, save for the Grimwielders and a few old crones. For the span of half a heartbeat he found that curious, then Linux understood that they were the ones who had just been trapped. The crones all threw back their hoods at once and revealed their witchy youth. Worse, the man he had just untied was now the voluptuous Ankha Vira, infamously beautiful leader of the Coven Wisteria. She was licking her blood-red lips as she sank her bladed nails into his face with one hand and sent a pulse of sparkling lavender power at Rikky with the other.

  Linux felt his cheeks ripping; he also felt Herald’s boot kick the witch in the side of her head.

  “Get on, you fat, fargin’ frog-eatin’ wench!” the ranger yelled.

  The witch went rolling away as if she were a tumbleweed in a gale. She rolled thrice in the time a normal person could have rolled once, and she came up rubbing the bleeding knot Herald had given her. She looked as angry as any woman Linux had ever seen.

  Silva blasted at Ankha Vira with her molten spew, but when it all settled the witch was gone. The Grimwielders and the other witches were still there, though, and they didn’t appear to be fleeing.

  The mercenaries’ involvement in the mess became clearer as three of them moved around to the right. One of the witches had her hand out and was clearly controlling them with a spell. Another witch was forcing two of the men out before Silva, so that the dragon had to choose which group to face. It was clear that even though the two Grimwielders had their swords out and ready, they were terrified and looked to be fighting the will that was commanding them.

  As Silva’s head darted down toward the two men, Rikky surprised the witch controlling them by pummeling her with a blast of Dour magic from the dragon tear mounted in his bow. It surprised Linux, too, for he’d forgotten the boy had gathered one until that moment. When the witch’s body impacted the ground, part of her was crushed into the cobbles. Her legs and lower torso were instantly little more than a pulpy stain, while the rest of her twisted apart and slid a few dozen paces.

  When Rikky roared this time, Linux didn’t even think of laughing. In fact, he found the look on the young man’s twisted face quite disturbing.

  Herald vomited, and the remaining two witches vanished in a flash. They must have let loose the spells holding the Grimwielders, for they were looking around with eyes full of fear and confusion now, too.

  “Back to lookin’ for them wicked bitches, I guess.” Herald spat away some of his revulsion and took in the guildsmen around them.

  “What do we do with them?” This came from Rikky.

  “We know where they gather,” one of the Grimwielders said quickly.

  “They were bewitched,” Linux said.

  Rikky had Silva ease her head down toward the man who had spoken. “Tell us where they gather, then,” he commanded.

  The man told him as quickly as he could speak.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Zahrellion could easily understand why Lemmy had no interest in hearing her complain about Aikira’s absence, or how she was so sorry for berating her. No one wanted to listen to a woman ramble on and on. Zah’s follies as Queen Regent, Dragoneer, and friend were none of his concern. She wasn’t certain why he was keeping such a distance from the baby, though. Normally he gave Jericho his full attention. Many times in the past she had been amazed by Lem’s interaction with the boy. The half-elf would spend hours exercising the baby’s legs and arms with soft, gentle movements. He would put him in his lap, legs out, and place his palms on the baby’s feet and move them as if Jericho were walking. Not only was it cute, but it would help the child’s coordination immensely.

  Lemmy had once written Zahrellion a note explaining that one of the reasons elves and half-elves were so dexterous was because their mothers did a whole lot more than just feed and ogle their get.

  Zahrellion wondered what Lemmy thought about all the time. He never spoke aloud because he was a mute. On occasion they’d conversed in the ethereal, but not lately. He was so gorgeous that any girl would fall for him, but he’d never been all that interested in girls, as far as she could tell.

  Jenka had told her that Lemmy’s elven blood might kill a human girl if she conceived. He would live a longer life than most people and would hopefully find a girl of elven blood and help the race repopulate.

  Lemmy didn’t seem as pleased to be here as she thought he would be. In the past, Lemmy had loved the foothills and used to roam them with the rangers, and even the ogres, but for the last few days he’d done little more than prop himself against a wall and watch the baby.

  His mood changed when Crystal came in from another supply flight from Three Forks. The dragon told Zahrellion that Rikky and Herald had found the Coven Wisteria and wanted Zah and Crystal to come help with the attack.

  Of course, Zahrellion agreed.

  Lemmy held the baby, rocking him like an experienced mother might to keep him still, while Zahrellion donned her Dragoneer armor and made ready.

  “You’ll feed him from the bladder? You’ll keep him safe?” she asked as she prepared.

  Lemmy nodded that he would, and she felt as sure as a mother could that her son, Jenka’s son, would be safe while she was gone.

  Zah kissed Jericho’s pink forehead and gave some instructions to the ogres who tended the lands around the castle. After that she ran the stairs up to the dragon landings, climbed onto Crystal’s back, and took to the air, flying south as fast as her frigid wyrm could go.

  The wind was refreshing and helped, at least for a while, to clear her worries away. She looked forward to wreaking her vengeance on the haughty witch who’d dared to try to steal her child. Then thoughts of Jenka assailed her, and sadness took over again. There were no words for how much she missed him.

  ***

  Jenka saw her. Crimzon was right. Even still, she was as fierce-looking and beautiful as a woman could be. Just looking at her made his heart race with something akin to fear, yet tinged with more than a little desire. She didn’t look to have actually been turned to stone. Her skin still retained a peachy color, and her hair was as red as any he’d ever seen. She looked as if she’d been about to clobber someone with a spell, the final words of the casting frozen on her lips.

  Jenka was suspended by his arms between two robed men, his limp form dragging roughly behind them. When he wouldn’t turn into a dragon, Xerrin Fyl blasted him with some powerful stunning spell. His bones felt as if they’d been liquefied, but they hadn’t—at least he hoped not. According to the murmuring between the acolytes, he was about to be solidified, just as Clover had been.

  He was too weak to struggle, and he’d called to his dragon so hard in the ethereal that his mind was worn out. He could do little more than watch as he was seated on a stool and leaned back against a wall for support. Unlike Clover, who looked to be in mid-stride toward whomever she was attacking, he was doomed to spend eternity in some awkward and uncomfortable
position.

  “You’ve had your last chance,” Xerrin Fyl said from the damp doorway. “You wanted to find the statue of the dragon rider my grandfather tricked. Well, here she is. Make a prayer to your gods, for the time has come for you to join her.”

  The room had to be below the level of the sea, for Jenka had been dragged down several more flights of stairs. He reached for the Dour of the teardrop mounted in his sword and could feel it, but it was in the pile one of the acolytes had dropped in the corner near his armor. Its power didn’t respond to him. Nor did the power from Clover’s teardrop, which was in the pouch tied to his sword belt. Jenka tried to sink into the Dour that was flowing through him as well, but the wards on the structure kept the power from serving him.

  At that moment he found he longed for the sickly feeling caused by teleporting with Dour. He might have been able to stand and stagger to Clover’s form and then teleport them away, but the Dour wasn’t there for him. Knowing that he had let down Zahrellion and his child and the other Dragoneers was hard to bear. Knowing he’d let down Crimzon, and now Clover, too, was enough to make him break.

  Xerrin Fyl laughed, and his followers sneered and chuckled along with him; then he stepped over and cast a spell that made Jenka feel as if he’d been frozen from the inside out. Vision left him and sound soon followed. His need to draw breath vanished, as did his sense of touch. Within minutes he was stiff and solid, yet semi-conscious of what was going on around him.

  The sea of Dour he usually sank into was now an ocean of despair. He missed Zahrellion; he missed his dragon even more. Then the full sense of doom, the idea that he couldn’t get out of here and see any of them ever again, started taking over. This wasn’t a dungeon that he could eventually leave. He’d been spelled still, and would remain so for all eternity.