“Well, I’m sorry I listened to you, Hans.”
Listened? Hans crushed the desperate bark of laughter that threatened to break loose from his chest. Through the bars, he grasped Klaus’ shirt. “Listening is training our warriors to fight tharuks. Listening is not caring what your father told you about dragons. He was wrong, Klaus. Your grandfather was a dragon rider—a fine rider, from what I’ve heard—and died saving a village. Your father turned against dragons afterward, injuring any dragons that patrolled Lush Valley. That’s why they don’t come here. That’s why they set up a beacon system. Your grandfather Frugar would not want his sacrifice to be in vain. He’d not want you to risk the lives of your loved ones because of your father’s bitterness.”
For a moment, Klaus stared at him, shock etched on his face. “Unhand me, you poor deluded fool.” He shoved Hans’ hands away and stalked off.
Bill cackled with glee. “Good try, mate. Who’d believe that crock of dung? You’ve sealed your fate now!”
Hans stood, head against the bars, chest heaving.
Hunted
It had been good to get out of this forsaken wagon and stretch her legs last night, but now, after another day on the road, Marlies was weary. Strange how lying around fretting could tire you out. It’d been ten days since she’d left Lush Valley. Had more tharuks breached the pass? Were Hans and Tomaaz still alive? She rubbed her calling stone, but there was no hum or buzz. Hans wasn’t using his, then.
Giant John, concerned freshweed wasn’t enough, had stopped at a local sty, trading vegetables for a piglet and chickens. Now there was an ominous dripping near her feet. The stink of pig urine and manure made her gag. The animals’ clucking and squealing hammered at her head. Thank the Egg, this prison wasn’t forever.
No, she had to stop this fussing. Zaarusha’s son and the hundreds of slaves in Death Valley were imprisoned, not her. She’d rather fly across the Flatlands on Liesar than stay in this shrotty wagon, but she hadn’t earned back her right to fly. Manure and pig urine, she could handle. Marlies shifted to stop her belt from digging into her hip, then rummaged in her pack for an apple. She bit into it.
The wagon careened around a corner, then slowed, the horses trotting at a steady pace, hooves echoing off nearby walls. They were in a town. Marlies’ nerves prickled. Perhaps there were mind-benders nearby. She submerged herself, going deep inside, so no one could detect her thoughts. She had to get to Death Valley as fast as possible, yet all she could do was wait.
§
Trickles of sweat ran down Giant John’s back as he drove through Forest Edge. The village was quiet, too quiet. There were no children in the yards, no one on the street, and no livestock in the fields. Forest Edge had been abandoned. A stray chicken pecked at the dirt. A chill breeze rippled through the trees, making a door bang. Where had everyone gone?
Giant John flicked the reins, and the horses galloped out of town. Leaving the village, he spied movement in the trees, then a piggy snout and the glint of armor. A tracker, for sure. It must’ve followed them from Last Stop. He urged the horses along the road through Spanglewood Forest. Birds took to the sky behind them. The tracker was fast.
Giant John bolted along the track, driving the horses hard. They needed to shake the tracker before Waldhaven, so they could hide the wagon in Benji’s barn. Although the tracker couldn’t scent Marlies, it could track him and the horses.
Hours later, at the turnoff for Waldhaven, John relaxed his grip on the reins. He hadn’t seen a sign of the tracker for a while, but they needed rest. Benji owned a small farm on the far side of the village. Straight through the center of town, and he’d be there. Giant John frowned. Everything was silent, just like in Forest Edge. Had everyone fled from here, too?
His wagon rumbled along the deserted street, around a corner. Except the street wasn’t deserted.
Giant John gaped in horror.
People lay dead on the doorsteps. Bodies were scattered along the road. A man was hanging, gutted, from a tree. A littling’s broken body had been flung onto a flower bed, her neck at an odd angle. Nauseous, Giant John pulled the reins, wheeling the wagon around, and made for the forest road. There was no refuge in Waldhaven.
§
Marlies’ nerves jangled like an over-tuned fiddle. Something was wrong. The wagon swerved, throwing her weight into her rucksack. The horses’ hooves thundered as Giant John pushed them into a gallop. The pig squealed. Branches struck the wagon, shudders reverberating through Marlies’ bones.
Abruptly, the wagon halted. Marlies slid forward, her feet crashing into the end of the compartment. Outside, something creaked—a door? Giant John walked the horses forward, then stopped. He flipped the side of the wagon bed down and helped Marlies out.
They were in a barn. He shut the doors, while Marlies rubbed her legs and marched on the spot to get her circulation going.
When he turned back to her, Giant John’s face was ashen. Tears tracked through the dust on his cheeks.
“What happened?”
His hands were trembling.
Marlies led him to a pile of hay. “Here, sit.” She retrieved a waterskin from the wagon and held it out to him. “Have some, you’ll feel better.”
Mutely, he took the skin and drank. His eyes were dark, hollowed out with grief.
“What was it, John?” she asked gently.
“Bodies. No one left alive. Women, littlings, even tiny ones.” He took another swig. “Rotting flesh in the streets and sprawled across doorsteps. All those lives …” His stare was blank—he’d be seeing it all over again, the way she’d seen the dead dragonet for years.
Marlies hugged him, and Giant John sobbed. “Benji, his wife and littlings …”
“Did you see them?”
“No.”
“They may have survived, fled …” Or been taken as Zens’ slaves. That would bring him no comfort. Marlies fixed some food—vegetables, bread and a cup of ale for Giant John. “Only one, mind you,” she said as she passed him the beer. “We need our wits sharp.”
“And our blades,” Giant John replied, anger kindling in his eyes.
Good, better anger than hopelessness.
As they ate, their conversation drifted to other things. “It’s the rift between mages and riders that’s let tharuks get out of hand,” Giant John said.
Marlies coughed on her bread. “What? They’re still quibbling over the world gate?”
“Well, the wizards did let Zens through. It’s their fault,” Giant John said.
“But that was years ago. And no one suspected he was such a horror.” He’d been ugly and misshapen, yet Zens had appeared peaceful.
Giant John took a sip of beer. “When Zens’ hidden army of tharuks started capturing our people as slaves, we should have fought him, not each other.”
“Surely the Council of the Twelve Dragon Masters has forgiven the wizards by now,” Marlies replied. “They can’t hold a grudge forever.”
Giant John shook his head. “Forgiving is one thing, forgetting is another—they’ve done neither.”
The mages had closed the world gate, but not without cost—many were stranded on the other side, locked out of Dragons’ Realm forever. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“As serious as I can be. Mages and riders haven’t fought together since Anakisha’s last battle.” Giant John sipped his beer.
“Shards, those idiots! How can we withstand Zens without wizard power? Without mages, how can we be effective? Who, on the council, supports this?”
“Who doesn’t? The mages are deep in Spanglewood Forest, or down in Naobia.” Giant John gave her another bleak look. “I know you were in pain when you and Hans fled Dragons’ Hold, but the masters who replaced you two are incompetent. Last time I was at Dragons’ Hold, I tried to tell Lars and Tonio, but they didn’t want to know.” He sighed. “Because I’m still friends with Giddi, they don’t trust me.” His eyes seemed to accuse her of abandoning the realm.
Marl
ies’ throat tightened with grief. “It wasn’t only horror of killing Zaarusha’s baby and Zaarusha’s wrath that I fled from. There was the pain of losing Anakisha, other riders and their dragons. Many of the mages we lost were my friends too …” She broke off. It had all been too much.
Beneath his gaze, she straightened her shoulders. “We can’t do anything about the past, just the future. I’m going to Death Valley to find Zaarusha’s lost son. I owe her that. Will you help me get to the foot of the Terramites?”
“They’re called the Terror Mites now.” Giant John grimaced. “So, that’s what you’re doing.” He hesitated.
She was asking too much. He had a family now. “Don’t worry, I’ll—”
With a flick of his hand, he cut her off. “I’ll gladly take you. Sleep in the compartment, in case we’re disturbed.” He threw her a blanket. “I’ll nap on the wagon.” Giant John turned the horses around, so they were facing the barn doors. Harnessed to the wagons, they were ready for a fast escape.
Marlies climbed inside the wagon bed, cringing. If they were caught, her secret compartment would be a death trap.
§
476, the tharuk tracker, opened the door to the barn. The big dolt had been here, the male with the beer. Yes, there were wagon tracks and fresh horse dung. He could’ve scented him a valley away even without the wagon tracks to follow. The tracker sniffed around the barn. In the corner, it found breadcrumbs and an apple core, and everywhere was that elusive scent that he couldn’t quite detect—the female. Somehow, she was masking her true scent. 476 couldn’t say how it knew, but its instincts said the female must be traveling with the big man.
The prize was within reach. Zens would be very pleased.
Hah! The man would be an easy kill. The oaf looked thicker than a headless chicken—and being big, he was bound to be slow. Saliva dribbled off 476’s tusks as it sped out of the barn, following the wagon’s tracks along the road through Spanglewood Forest.
§
Giant John’s supplies were pitifully low. All that remained was half a sack of vegetables and an empty beer barrel. He’d had to give everything else to a troop of tharuk trackers a while back, distracting them for long enough for him to ride off with Marlies. Oh, they’d questioned him about her, too. And those trackers had been coming from Death Valley. How had the news of Marlies traveled ahead of her? Giant John clicked his tongue against his teeth, encouraging the horses. His mares had done well this trip, but they were tiring.
He kept an eye on the forest, sure they were being followed. A shadow flitted through the trees, to his right, behind him. And again. Yes, it was a tracker. Might as well smoke the beggar out into the open. The next chance he had, he’d stop and invite the tracker to play.
Dread trickled down his spine. A hundred things could go wrong. Giant John mopped his brow. It was a chance he’d have to take.
§
The big oaf had stopped in a clearing and was standing on the wagon, rummaging in a sack of vegetables. Worse than a blind pig, the idiot had his back to a large tree with an overhanging branch.
The man’s scent wafted toward 476.
476 slunk behind the tree.
Even better, the dolt was whistling. Good, that would cover the sound of its claws scraping against the bark as it scaled the trunk. The tracker crawled along the branch until it was right above the oaf, who was slicing an apple with a puny-looking knife.
476’s nostrils quivered with excitement and bloodlust.
§
Giant John forced himself to slice an apple with neat methodical cuts, lifting the tiny blade between each cut to check the reflection of the branch above.
The tracker was there, waiting. He popped a slice of apple in his mouth, quickly chewing it. Shards, it would be a terrible waste to choke on a piece of apple in a fight. Another slice. The beast was crouching, ready to pounce. Giant John whistled a few more bars, then coughed loudly to let Marlies know there was danger.
Now! As the tracker leaped, Giant John turned, whipping his sword from his belt, raising it to impale the tracker on his blade.
Seeing his sudden move, the tracker twisted in midair. The blade barely sliced its arm. With a crash that shook the wagon, the tharuk landed on its feet, claws out.
An agile sod, this one.
Giant John had to keep the beast away from Marlies. Oh shards, this was the tracker with the broken tusk and black eyes. It could mind-bend. He mustn’t think about Marlies. Jumping from the wagon, he sprinted across the clearing.
Stomping and rasping followed him.
Close—too close, he was breathing in the creature’s rotty breath.
Pain sliced across Giant John’s back.
He spun, droplets of his own blood flying, cherry-red in the sun. Giant John thrust his sword at the tracker, but it lunged low, grabbing his legs, slamming him to the ground. His sword went flying. Rolling, he leaped to his feet as the brute pounced right where he’d just been.
Giant John whipped a dagger from his sleeve. The tharuk sprang into the air, and snatched Giant John’s other arm, wrenching it as it flew past him, spinning him off balance. Gods, this thing was fast, and cunning.
Giant John surged forward, aiming his dagger at the tharuk’s neck.
The beast parried the blade with a flick of its arm and swiped at John’s torso, raking its claws across his gut.
Giant John dropped his dagger and crumpled to his knees, clutching his stomach. The beast sprang, flinging him backward and pinned his arms with its claws.
Giant John tried to heave his legs up to dislodge the beast, but his middle burnt with fire, moisture leaking over his hips—blood, guts? He couldn’t tell. Either way, his belly muscles were useless.
The tracker’s black beady eyes focused on him. “Where is the female?” it snarled.
Dizziness swept over Giant John. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The irrational urge to tell this monster about Marlies filled his head. He fought, keeping an image of a sunflower in his mind, refusing to let the beast win. His forehead dripped sweat. Yellow petals, thick stem.
“Play with me, would you? Picking flowers?” The tracker drove a knee into his rib.
Giant John felt it pop. Smash. Another rib.
“Where is she?” The tracker’s spittle flew into his face, making him want to gag. But he couldn’t—oh gods, the pain was too much. And that awful dizziness. Focus on the sunflower—bright green leaves, yellow, dark center.
The tracker released its grip on his arms for a moment. Giant John snatched the tracker’s fur, but it was too late, the beast’s fingers closed around his neck. It squeezed. Giant John gurgled. Croaked. Black spots danced before his eyes.
“You got no chance,” gloated the tracker. “I’m stronger. Smarter.” It laughed. “Zens is making new creatures. To kill every male, female and small human. And all your stinking dragons. Gone. Just you wait.”
Giant John tried to fight but could only gurgle. Darkness crept across the edge of his vision. The world spun.
With a fleshy thunk, a sword protruded from the tharuk’s neck. Dark blood gushed over Giant John’s head. Marlies’ face appeared.
Giant John fainted.
§
Marlies kicked the tracker off Giant John and crouched by her old friend. “John! Don’t pass out on me now. Come on!”
His eyelids fluttered.
Not waiting for him to rouse, she tugged up his blood-soaked jerkin. A gut wound, plenty of blood but no intestines, thank goodness. She whipped her piaua out of her healer’s pouch and dripped juice along one end of the wound site, holding the edges together so his flesh could knit over. Giant John moaned at the burn, but didn’t wake. She repeated the process until the wound was closed.
Lifting his jerkin, she saw mottled bruises spreading on one side of his chest. His throat was also bruised. Marlies dashed back to the wagon and grabbed her waterskin. As an afterthought, she pulled the trapdoor shut in the bottom of the secret compartment, a
nd bolted it, then tugged the horses toward Giant John.
Sloshing water over Giant John’s face, she woke him.
His eyes darted wildly, then his face brightened. “Marlies!” He spotted the dead tracker. “Thank the Egg! You saved me!” He tried to sit up, but winced.
“Ribs?”
Giant John nodded sheepishly. “Afraid so.”
“Here, open your mouth.” Marlies let two or three drips of piaua juice fall on John’s tongue, then rubbed a little over the bruises on his throat and torso. “That should make it easier to move.”
Soon, he could sit up unaided. He got to his feet and flexed his torso. “Piaua is amazing. Thankfully, you were here.”
“Without me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.” She nudged the dead tharuk with her boot. A severed tharuk hand fell out of its pocket. “Ew, gross. We’d better get going in case its friends turn up.”
“Ah, Marlies. We can’t leave the body or the hand here. They’ll be onto us in no time.”
“Good, then we’ll take them with us.”
Giant John stuffed the hand back in the dead beasts’ pocket and lifted its body. But when he flipped the side of the wagon bed down and stuffed the beast into the secret compartment, then gestured to Marlies to get in, she recoiled. “No, John, even I have limits.”
“Well,” he said, “this isn’t one of them. I can’t take either of you in the top of the wagon. If we’re stopped, I’m a dead man.”
She hesitated.
“Marlies, I have a wife, now. A wee littling.”
“Fair enough.” She sighed.
He stuffed some sacks next to the dead brute and wiped its blood stains off the floor.
Marlies climbed in, screwing up her nose. “Never thought I’d cuddle up to a dead tharuk,” she muttered as he flipped the side up and locked her in. Brilliant, the tharuk’s body was now blocking the trapdoor—her only exit if Giant John was attacked.
§
A while later, Giant John stopped the horses and let Marlies out of the wagon. They half-dragged and half-lifted the tharuk to the top of the ravine. Below, the Tooka river churned in a heaving white mass.
Dragon Hero: Riders of Fire, Book Two - A Dragons' Realm novel Page 11