Dragon Hero: Riders of Fire, Book Two - A Dragons' Realm novel

by Eileen Mueller

  Another scrape. The light at the entrance was blotted out for a moment. There was a snuffle. The beast was inside, hovering around the cave entrance. It went straight to the first alcove. She’d taken freshweed in the forest, so it couldn’t have scented her. Had Nick betrayed her? As she positioned her bow, the end scraped the wall. The tharuk tensed, then charged.

  Shards, did it have night vision?

  Marlies let an arrow fly. It bounced off the beast’s armored vest. Too low. She nocked again and aimed at its forehead. The tharuk instinctively ducked and the arrow hit its arm.

  The beast bellowed, its roars reverberating in the tunnel. The tracker lunged, claws out, its rot smothering her. Dropping her bow, Marlies drew her sword. As the tracker lunged again, she rammed the sword at its belly. But the sword bounced off armor.

  Marlies struck again, a glancing blow off the monster’s neck. The tharuk swiped, just missing her face. She danced out of reach. This couldn’t go on forever—sooner or later it would kill her. Her foot hit the wall behind her. Trapped!

  “Stupid human,” the tharuk gloated. “I got you now.”

  Marlies leaped toward the beast, taking it by surprise, and rammed her sword upward into the soft flesh under its chin. The beast staggered, clutching at her blade. Using her weight, she drove the sword into its skull. She let go, kicking the beast in the stomach, and it fell, arms flailing, onto the stone. The tharuk twitched a few times, then lay still. Marlies palmed her dagger and leaned against the wall, catching her breath, waiting to see if it moved.

  She counted a hundred heartbeats, then placed her foot on the beast’s shoulder to tug her sword free. Slick with her enemy’s blood, her boot slipped a little. It was dead, all right. After cleaning her sword on the beast’s fur, she dragged the tracker into the alcove and grabbed her rucksack and bow, taking a moment to put a few of the beast’s poisoned arrows into her quiver. She had to get a move on.

  Nipping along to Nick’s alcove, she looked inside and found food, water, and, of all the luck, dragon’s breath, a rare mountain flower. When shaken, the petals emitted a soft glow. Thank the Egg, Nick was resourceful. She put half a dozen vials in her rucksack, and taking some twine, shook a vial, then bound it to her forehead. Tucking a couple of dried apples in her pockets, she took a swig of water from one of Nick’s waterskins.

  As she stepped out of Nick’s alcove, rustling wings filled the tunnel. Bats? No, birds, from outside. Crows cawed, diving at her, talons out, sharp beaks pecking at her face. Grabbing her sword, Marlies swung it in an arc, knocking a bird to the ground. She yelled, swinging wildly and stomping.

  The birds left in a swarm, dark shadows against the light as they fled.

  Her dragon’s breath light casting sinister shapes on the wall, Marlies ran deeper into the tunnel. It was only a matter of time before those crows reported her presence to other tharuks, or even to Zens himself.

  Trapped

  Marlies jammed the toe of her boot into a crevice and pulled. A few more handholds and she’d be out of this endless vertical shaft. Thank the Egg, she’d kept up her training, often journeying into the Grande Alps to keep her mountaineering skills sharp. Half the reason they’d trained Tomaaz and Ezaara in combat and archery was to keep their own skills honed—and because one day, she and Hans had hoped to ride their dragons with their family at their sides.

  Mind you, she’d never see Liesar again if she lost her grip and plummeted to the bottom of this chimney. And it had been years. Every day she and Hans had lived in Lush Valley, they’d missed their dragons, trying to bury their grief in Lush Valley life. It had never been enough.

  Marlies clambered out and sat, legs dangling over the black hole. Peering down, her light only illuminated a tiny part of what she’d just climbed. She sipped water and munched on flatbread and dried beef. It’d been four days since Ezaara had disappeared from Lush Valley, so she’d have arrived at Dragons’ Hold yesterday. How was she finding it? Shards, she should have prepared her daughter better, should have taught her in dragon lore and protocol. She’d failed as a mother and a rider.

  Sighing, she pulled her rucksack on and trudged upward, rounding a corner. Was it her imagination, or was it getting lighter ahead?

  Around the next corner, it was lighter—the exit was near. She drew her sword, and made her way stealthily toward a cavern. The exit was half-obscured by bushes, light filtering through their foliage. A breeze wafted across Marlies’ neck. She turned. Behind, in the left wall, there was a narrow aperture. Marlies stole over and squeezed through, dragging her rucksack in after her. Narrow steps led upward, giving her barely enough space to get through. She ascended, her sword at the ready.

  The steps opened into a chamber directly above the exit cavern below, with a few holes in the floor. Sunlight streamed through a narrow slit in the far wall. The chamber was empty. Why go to all the trouble of having a secret cavern if there was nothing in it? Dragon riders had hidey holes all across the realm, but they kept them supplied with food, clothing and a few weapons. This one was no use to anyone.

  A voice floated up from outside. Marlies nipped over to the slit in the rock. She was above the tree line, the forest sprawling past the foot of the mountain to the Flatlands, where her father had taken her as a littling. A rock slide slashed a scar across the greenery, and a goat track led to the shrubbery at the cave mouth.

  Two tharuks were tromping up the trail, arguing. “What if crows were wrong?”

  “Want to lose a hand?”

  “No. Long climb. That’s all.”

  “We climb because Zens. Want that troop leader report us?”

  “Ah … no. I like hands.”

  The larger tharuk laughed harshly. “Then hold onto them.” It gestured at the bushes. “Quiet. Nearly there.”

  The beasts were making such a racket. Marlies turned, evaluating the room. It wasn’t useless, after all. Someone had designed it with kill holes, some angled toward the entrance and others to the rear of the cavern.

  Taking owl-wort leaves from her healer’s pouch, she chewed them, then Marlies laid the dead tracker’s poisoned arrows next to two of the holes and a stone by another. She nocked her bow, careful not to touch the poisoned tip, and waited. Soon the owl-wort took effect, making her view of the dim cavern below much clearer. Her skin crawled with impatience until the tharuks rustled the bushes.

  Rasping breaths and footsteps echoed in the tunnel. The large tharuk passed under the first hole. Marlies increased the tension on her bow. She waited. When the tharuk was under the third hole, she nudged the stone with her boot, sending it clattering into the cavern below. The beast whirled in surprise, giving Marlies a perfect shot. Her arrow zipped through the air and struck the tharuk in the temple.

  “What was that?” its companion asked, entering the tunnel.

  Marlies turned and fired down the front kill hole. Her arrow lodged in the tharuk’s neck. Clutching at the shaft with its claws, it toppled to the stone.

  She threw on her rucksack and fled down the stairs into the cavern. She removed the tharuks’ bows from their backs, placing them in their paws. With any luck, someone might think these two had killed each other with their own arrows. Then again, maybe not—the crows and the dead tracker were damning evidence.

  She shook her head. Years ago, dragons had kept Zens’ tharuks confined behind the Terramites, the mountains between Death Valley and the Flatlands. Tharuks had only dared to make occasional forays into the Flatlands to plunder and enslave citizens of Dragons’ Realm. Dragons had always driven them back.

  Now, these brutes were everywhere.

  §

  Marlies froze among the foliage of a towering gum tree, glad she’d taken freshweed to stop the tharuks from scenting her. She pulled her camouflage cloak around her tightly, watching two tharuks stomp around the forest floor. In the four days since she’d left the tunnel mouth, it was the third time that they’d gotten this close.

  “Always the same,” snarled the
hulking tharuk with a broken tusk. “Scent’s gone again. Does that human fly?”

  “Maybe,” answered a runty tharuk, gazing up at the sky.

  Broken Tusk cuffed Runty, sending it sprawling through the leaves into the trunk of Marlies’ gum tree. “Stay there,” Broken Tusk snapped. “Break time.”

  “W-we’re not g-going to sleep, are w-we? If Zens c-catches us—”

  “How would Zens know? I’m knackered. Shuddup. Move over.” Broken Tusk kicked Runty, persuading it to shuffle over, then slumped to the ground, against the trunk.

  “It killed two of us by that tunnel. M-might be dangerous.”

  “Don’t be stupid. They was fighting. That female is gone. Now, sleep.” Broken Tusk clobbered its underling, closed its eyes and was soon snoring.

  Runty gibbered for a moment, then dozed off, no doubt lulled to sleep by the melodious cacophony Broken Tusk was conjuring through its piggy snout.

  Marlies rolled her eyes. Charming! Trapped by snoring tharuks. There had to be a way out of here. She drummed her fingers lightly on the branch. A thrum answered her. She laid her hand on the smooth bark, inhaling the eucalyptus scent as the leaves around her rustled.

  Be daring, be brave. Use my leaves to rid our forest of these vermin.

  How?

  Sacrifice is worthwhile for a greater cause.

  An image of blazing gum trees appeared in her mind.

  Oh shards, no. Everyone on the edge of the Flatlands knew that in intense heat, gums could combust due to the oil in their leaves. But to willingly offer? This tree was truly noble.

  The tree gave an encouraging rustle.

  It just might work. Extracting a fire bean and an arrow from her rucksack, Marlies plucked some gum leaves, crushing them and rubbing them along the wooden shaft of the arrow, coating it with eucalyptus oil. She wrapped more crushed leaves in a scrap of fabric from her healer’s pouch, and tied it around the arrow head. Holding the arrow between her knees, she broke the fire bean against the leaf bundle. The bean ignited instantly, and the leaves flared. Snatching up her bow, she shot the flaming arrow at a pile of dry leaves, a distance from the sleeping babes. She snorted, baby monsters, more like. She wished them nightmares.

  The leaves caught, but the tharuks kept snoozing. Shards, she didn’t want the whole forest to go up in flames while they had their beauty sleep. Marlies dropped some leaves on the tharuks’ faces. No response, except a giant snore from Broken Tusk. The leaf pile was blazing now.

  Desperate, Marlies peeled long strips of loose bark from the gum branch and dropped them onto Broken Tusk’s snout.

  Broken Tusk spluttered, jumping to its feet. “Fire! Hey, lazy. Get up!” It booted Runty, and they both snatched up their water skins, rushing toward the flames.

  It was in their best interests to put out the fire before the entire forest burned. Her work done, Marlies jumped into a neighboring tree and made her way northeast toward the Flatlands.

  §

  476 shoved the weakling toward the fire, bellowing, “Use your water first!”

  “B-but I d-don’t—”

  “Now!”

  The weakling threw water at the flames, a fly spitting against the wind—too little force and not enough fluid. Soon runt’s skin was empty.

  “Smother the flames with the skin,” 476 roared, shoving the weakling closer, using it as a shield against the heat. The pathetic runt whimpered as it got close to the flames, shielding its face with the waterskin.

  “Smother it. Too scared to use the skin? Use rocks, then.” 476 picked up a rock, tossing it at the burning leaves. Soon the fire would be out of control and they’d have to flee, like beaten dogs. If they survived, Zens would murder them for losing their quarry. 476 cast around for something bigger to smother the fire with.

  The weakling tossed a rock or two.

  “Bigger. Get that boulder,” 476 ordered.

  The weakling tried uselessly to prize the enormous boulder from the ground with its claws.

  Now, there was something that would smother the fire perfectly. 476 brought a rock crashing down onto the runt’s skull, smashing its head against the boulder and killing it instantly. Then 476 lifted the weakling’s body, almost hooking it on its broken tusk, and carried it to the burning leaves. It threw the body onto the flames, rolling it back and forth until the worst of the fire had died. The rest, it doused with its own waterskin.

  By the time 476 was done, its paws were singed, its tongue was thick with smoke, and its eyes were stinging. The cloying stench of burnt gum clung to its nostrils, making it impossible to track anything. 476 hacked the burnt hand off its dead underling. It snarled, snatching up the waterskin and limping toward a river, so it could clear its senses, and track down whatever had started that fire—it must have been the prey they were seeking.

  Captive

  Two days in this rotting cell and still no chance of escape. Hans paced along the back wall: four steps north, four steps south, four steps north again …

  Bill’s constant melody of retching and ranting was wearying, but it least it was better than when Bill trembled on his thin mattress, howling. No one who ever witnessed that would want to take swayweed. But then again, no one ever took it voluntarily the first time—and once they tasted it, deep-seated cravings drove them mad. That sharding Zens was sly. He milked plants to subjugate everyone to his will. Thousands of Death Valley slaves under the control of numlock were testament to that.

  His boots ground grit into the floor. He and Marlies had buried their pasts for too long. He was ready to fight Zens and his beasts, to reclaim everything Zens had stolen. To avenge those whose families and loved ones Zens had destroyed.

  Hans slammed his bandaged knuckles against the bars. He’d tried reason. He’d tried the fear of tharuk attack, and now he’d had enough. “I demand to see Klaus. I demand a right to a fair trial,” he shouted. He had to do something. Those monsters would sweep through Western Settlement and across Lush Valley, laying waste to everything.

  The guard paced down the corridor, sword in hand, glowering.

  “Please, listen to me,” Hans pleaded. “Tharuks are coming. I have to help the township prepare.”

  The guard cocked his head, scratching his bristly beard. At last, he was listening.

  “What a load of horse manure,” Bill bellowed. “Dragon lover! Klaus wants you in here to stop you rabble rousing. Said as much. No one here respects a man who fed his own daughter to a fiery beast!”

  The guard’s teeth were a slash of white against his dark beard. He smacked his sword hilt against Hans’ knuckles. “Oops, that slipped.” He flashed a malicious grin.

  Ignoring his throbbing hand, Hans threw himself away from the bars to jog off his fury along the length of his cell. After a while, he lay on his lumpy mattress and did stomach crunches until his face beaded with sweat. Then he lunged, using the air as his sword.

  It was no use. He was stuck here. His heart was good, yet Ernst would never be able to train everyone before tharuks arrived.

  The guard was speaking to someone. “I’ll let Klaus know that you’re consorting with the dragon lover again,” he sneered.

  Ernst came along the corridor. “Good day, Hans.” He slipped a few rounds of flatbread and some cheese through the bars. “From Ana.” He wrinkled his nose at the bitter stench of Bill’s latest bout of retching. “Although you may choose to eat it later.”

  As if the biting stench would lift later. Shrugging, Hans bit into the bread, mumbling his thanks through mouthfuls.

  “How are your hands?” Ernst asked.

  “Much better. The salve helped. Tell Ana, ‘Thanks’.”

  “Nigh on thirty men now,” Ernst whispered. “Training at your place these last few days. Handy, the size of your old barn; keeps prying eyes away. I’ve got about another fifteen in my barn, running them through basic weapon drills, like you advised.”

  So, forty-five fighters. “Dagger, sword and shield?”

  Ernst
nodded.

  “Anyone good at knife-throwing?”

  “My son, Lofty. Hadn’t thought of that. We’ll move onto it today.”

  Not thought of knife-throwing? The most basic training for all dragon riders? Hans struggled not to let his frustration show. “How many archers?” he asked.

  “Not enough. Less than a handful.” Ernst shook his head. “Seems Klaus warned them off us.”

  Hans’ bread turned to dust in his mouth. “You’d think he wants to die at the hands of tharuks.”

  Nodding grimly, Ernst whispered, “Him and everyone else. Too stubborn for their own good. What should we work on next?”

  “Spears for the front line.”

  Ernst had never faced tharuks before. He’d lived here in Lush Valley most of his life—apart from a short sojourn when he’d ventured beyond the Grande Alps, had his eyes opened, and met Ana, bringing her back to raise a family in this little haven. A haven that was about to become a death trap.

  There was so much to convey: the best defensive moves against tharuks; tharuk attack strategies; their most common tusk maneuvers; how to evade their crushing techniques; the right spots to aim arrows to avoid their matted fur; but most importantly, how to protect yourself from tharuk mind-benders.

  Running his hand through his unruly hair, Hans opened his mouth, then hesitated.

  Bill was hunched over a bucket, his back to them, but his retching had stopped. He was as still as a marmot, head cocked. Listening. Even now, he was spying for the tharuks.

  Shooting a meaningful glance in Bill’s direction, Hans still spoke quietly, hoping Bill wouldn’t realize they’d changed their topic of conversation. “Tomaaz may need a hand to harvest the carrots and the last of the potatoes. It also wouldn’t harm to kill a few chooks for smoking.”

  Ernst shot a glance over his shoulder at Bill before replying. “Very well, I’ll be back later in case you think of anything else.”

  No! His chance to train Ernst was slipping away, all because of that cursed spy. “Ah, wait,” called Hans. How could he give Ernst a clear message about mind-benders, without letting Bill know? “Um, Tomaaz … how’s he feeling since he got burned?”