“On my count,” said Giant John, adjusting his grip and using his thighs to lift the beast’s torso while Marlies held the legs. They threw the beast into the river.
Its body bounced on a rock, then bobbed once or twice before it was swept down the gorge in a torrent of white wash.
Giant John turned to Marlies. She was heading into the jaws of the viper in Death Valley. He wouldn’t wish that trip on anybody. “There’s a steep chimney at the back of this cave leading to a goat track up the mountainside. The tharuks use a trail about twenty furlongs south of here. Just before Devil’s Gate—”
“That’s the pass into Death Valley, right?”
He nodded. “Before then, the tharuk track and your trail converge. You’ll be sharing the way with tharuks, but the mountain’s so steep, there’s no other way up. I’d save your freshweed for then.” He shrugged. There was so much more to say, so many memories they shared.
Marlies embraced him. “Thank you, John, for risking your life for me. Give my thanks to your wife. I’d like to meet her one day.”
Chuckling, Giant John replied, “And I’d like to see your children.”
Marlies smiled. “You may see one of them soon. My daughter, Ezaara, is now Queen’s Rider.”
“Queen’s Rider?” Giant John gaped.
Marlies laughed. “Watch out, John, you might swallow a passing tharuk!”
He hugged her again. “Speed on wings of fire.”
She snorted. “That would be nice, but Liesar isn’t here, so I’ll just have to use my feet.” Marlies waved and entered the cave.
Giant John watched until she was out of sight, then unharnessed the horses, and took their saddlebags out of the secret compartment. He pushed the wagon to the edge of the ravine, and gave it a shove. It dropped, splintering into pieces on the rocks. The current tugged, sweeping some parts away and leaving others stranded.
The tracker’s words echoed in his head, chilling him. “Zens is making new creatures. To kill every male, female and small human. And all your stinking dragons. Gone. Just you wait.” Giant John shivered. New monsters? Someone needed to find out. Shards, he should’ve told Marlies. Was it too much to hope she’d stumble upon the secrets Zens was hiding?
After fastening the saddlebags on the horses, Giant John roped one behind the other and swung into the saddle. He took one last glance at the mountainside as the last rays of sunset melted into dark shadows, and muttered, “By the dragon’s tail, I hope she makes it out again.”
Tharuk Attack
There it was again—the slow creak of the prison door opening. Then soft footfalls.
Creeping to his feet, Hans felt in the dark for the jagged piece of wood he’d prized from his bed yesterday. As his hands closed around the makeshift dagger, a splinter drove into his palm. He clamped his teeth together to stop himself from grunting and stood with his back against the side wall of his cell.
At the other end of the prison, a strangled screech was cut short, followed by a muffled thump.
That was the guard out of the way.
Hans braced himself as the stench of tharuk wafted down the corridor, preceding a lumbering beast. It always made his stomach curl and brought back terrible memories. The sharp iron of their victim’s blood was in his nose again, as he waited, silent, in the dark.
The gorge rose in his throat as the tharuk—a shadow in the darkness—stopped at the cell opposite.
Of course. They were coming to break Bill out. To use him as a pawn, once again. The crow had obviously passed its message on, somehow.
The tang of the guard’s blood rose through the tharuk’s stench. The monster must be covered in it.
With a jangle and a clank, Bill’s cell door was open. A thud. A muffled groan from Bill, then his simpering.
“Oh, thank you, Master. I’m so grateful you came for me. Lovely to see you, absolutely lovely.”
“Drink this,” the beast growled.
Hans heard Bill chugging back fluid, then stumbling to his feet. Swayweed tea, no doubt.
“Ow, not quite so tight, Master,” Bill said. “I’m coming with you, right now.”
“Keep your voice down,” the tharuk growled as it swept Bill down the corridor and out of jail.
For long moments, Hans waited, pressed against the wall. He cocked his head. There were no cries of alarm outside, no sounds of fighting. So, the beast had come to grab Bill ahead of the main attack.
Now, to get out of here, get weapons and defend the township. Hans reached his arm through the bars, stretching the wooden dagger toward Bill’s cell in the dark. He waved the wood back and forth, until it thunked against the edge of the cell door, but it was too short to reach the keys. Hans turned back to the bed. There was plenty more wood where that came from.
Wait.
From outside the prison came stealthy whispers and the chink of armor. The reek of tharuk drifted through the window. There were no warning cries. Dread coiled through Hans’ stomach. Tharuks were infiltrating the village, so Ernst’s perimeter guards must be dead. If only Klaus had listened.
He needed more wood. Hans threw the mattress off his bed. The noise he was about to make could bring tharuks running, but if he didn’t get out, he’d be trapped. Hopefully the racket would alert the settlers. Hans kicked the bed in the weak spot where he’d torn off his dagger. Just a thunk in the dark. He booted it again and again. The planks groaned but held solid.
“What’s that?” a guttural growl rumbled outside Bill’s window.
“Probably 731 smashing up the jail.”
“But we weren’t to start until—”
A scream cut through the air. Everything outside went mad: roaring, yelling, torches flaring through the barred window. Agonized screeches as tusks and claws met flesh.
It made no difference how much noise he made now. Hans jumped high, his boots smashing down on the bed. The wood groaned. He jumped again, thrusting his full bodyweight downward. With a jarring crash, the bed splintered. Pain sparking through his calf, he snatched up a length of wood and poked it through the bars. Erratic torches cast light through the windows, allowing him to skewer the enormous loop of keys onto the end of his stick. Hans jiggled them, trying to get Bill’s key loose from the lock.
Through their cell bars, inmates cried out, then grew silent as they watched his struggle.
Hans jiggled the key again. The end of his stick broke off, falling to the ground, and the keys were still stuck in Bill’s shrotty lock.
A deep snarl made Hans’ neck hairs stand on end. A torch flared to life.
“Speed it, mate,” someone hissed. “A beast is coming.” The inmates disappeared from their barred doors, taking refuge at the back of their cells.
Hans thrust the stick through the key ring again, then yanked, hard. The key flew from the lock and the ring slid along the stick.
The snarls grew closer.
He didn’t dare look. Hand over hand, he pulled the stick back through the bars of the cell. Another moment and the jailer’s keys would be within reach. The light grew brighter. Hans clasped the jailer’s keyring and glanced up.
The tharuk was stopping at each cell and lifting its torch high, sniffing the prisoners’ scents.
A tracker. Hunting someone. Who in Lush Valley would be valuable enough to track?
A chill swept through him. A former dragon master and his family.
He had to get free before the beast found him. The scrape of the key as he slid it into the lock jarred his ears.
The tharuk was only a few cells down.
He turned the key, then stuffed them in his pocket. Let the monster think the door was locked. He lifted the stick, hiding it against his leg. A weapon, but a poor one. Before Hans could retreat to the back of the cell, the tharuk lifted its snout, nostrils twitching, and sniffed the air. The beast spun, long strings of dark drool dribbling off its saliva-coated tusks.
It stared right at him, a puckered scar under one of its red eyes. The beast’s no
strils flared as it stopped at Hans’ cell. It flexed its claws. “What’s here, then? A former dragon rider, I believe?”
Bill had known and sold him out.
“You know what we do to dragon riders, don’t you?” The beast’s top lip curled.
Hans had seen tortured riders, hands missing, with strips torn off their backs and feet, left to rot in Death Valley. No way, not him. He lunged, shoving with all his weight on the cell door. It swung open, knocking the tharuk backward into Bill’s cell door. The torch rolled along the corridor.
Hans ducked around his door. The tracker leaped to its feet, blocking Hans’ escape. Hefting his stick with two hands, he drove it upward under the tharuk’s chin. Blood rained over Hans. Impaled, the beast swiped at Hans, but the stick was too long, keeping its claws out of reach.
He pushed harder. The beast clutched at the wood, its eyes rolling back in its head. Black blood pumped from its throat. Soon the monster’s head lolled to the side and its body went limp.
Hans let go, kicking the beast aside as it hit the floor.
“What was that?” a prisoner asked, face pressed against his bars.
“That was how you kill a tharuk. Aim for their throats or the weak spot under their chins.” Breathing hard, Hans dragged the keys from his pocket. “Who wants to stay here and be slaughtered?” Silence. “Then will you help me kill these over-sized rats?”
Ragged cheers went up among the prisoners.
Hans unlocked the neighboring cell. “Release the others, grab some weapons, and meet me in the square.” Most of them would flee, but some might help. Any fighters were a bonus.
Hans grabbed the torch and ran along the corridor, yelling his instructions to all the prisoners, then raced outside.
It was mayhem. People were fleeing. Beasts smashed buildings and homes. The few villagers fighting tharuks were armed with only pitchforks or spades, taking wild swings at the monsters. A pot flew out a window, hitting a tharuk on the head. Shrieks of pain filled the night.
A burly figure thundered toward him, lit up from behind by a home engulfed in flames. “Hans!” It was Klaus, his face pale and streaked with black tharuk blood. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hans. I should’ve listened. Here, your weapons.” He threw Hans his scabbard and daggers.
Hans caught them, then whirled, drawing his sword to fight off a wiry tharuk. At his side, Klaus drove back a bigger beast with a bald spot above its eye. Hans feinted high. The tharuk looked up, and he drove his sword into its throat. No sooner had the beast hit the ground, three more replaced it.
Where were the blue guards and their dragons? Had they seen the beacon? With no way of knowing, Hans kept fighting.
§
There was a crash.
Tomaaz leaped off his bedroll, snatched up his weapons and threw his bow and quiver over his back. The front door was shuddering under the impact of—
Smack! Another blow shook the door in its frame.
Around him, people were rising to their feet, befuddled with sleep.
“Get to the center of the house,” Tomaaz called. “Hide the littlings. Fighters, mark the entrances—the chimney, windows and doors.” How had he come to be in charge? That was supposed to be Ernst’s job, or Pa’s.
There was a rush of activity behind him as people scurried around in the dark. Someone lit candles from the embers in the fireplace.
When the next whack on the door came, the floorboards shook as well.
Lofty and Kieft took the spots beside him, near the door. “There are six more at our backs,” Kieft whispered. “In case any tharuks get through.”
“What’s that stench?” Murray covered his mouth with his hand.
“Stand fast,” Tomaaz commanded. “Draw your weapons.”
A sharp crack came from his parents’ room, then the tinkle of shattering glass. Roars ripped through the rear of the house. The thwack of blades made Tomaaz’s knees shudder.
“Stand fast. Someone else has it,” he called.
A yell was cut off with a wet thump.
The front door shuddered again, then splintered, as a tree trunk smashed through the wood. Outside, there were raucous bellows.
Tomaaz sheathed his sword. Whipping an arrow from his quiver, he aimed toward the trunk protruding from the door. He’d only have one chance as the log was withdrawn, but a tharuk down was one less to fight. The log withdrew and Tomaaz loosed an arrow. A roar rang out. He nocked another arrow and let it fly.
Tharuks converged on the door. Tomaaz let one last shot fly, threw his bow across his back and drew his sword.
The door broke, showering the floor with wood. A piece smacked Lofty on the arm, then a wall of fur, tusks and claws poured over the threshold.
Tomaaz ran at them. A tharuk swiped, its broad furry arm bashing his sword aside. Tomaaz slashed at the brute. The beast swung at his head and he ducked, then counter-attacked. Fur flew. This stuff was like armor, thick and matted. He’d have to aim for a weak spot.
But the tharuk was a blur of tusks and claws, gouging and slashing. As fast as he blocked, the brute was there again, beady red eyes anticipating his moves. Tomaaz pushed himself harder, faster, driving the brute back toward the doorway, where more of their fighters had spilled past to battle monsters outside. He pursued the monster over the step. The beast stumbled, then drew itself upright, raising an arm high. Its sharp claws came down toward Tomaaz’s head. Tomaaz swerved, and the beast’s claws shredded the side of his jerkin.
Tomaaz swept in, driving his sword upward, under the tharuk’s descending arm. Surprise flashed across the tharuk’s face as Tomaaz’s blade sank deep into the beast’s armpit. The monster’s roar nearly split Tomaaz’s head.
He twisted the blade and dragged the sword downward, ripping a gash in the tharuk’s side. The beast collapsed, sprawled across the stairs, staining them with its blood.
Pushing his foot against the monster’s side, Tomaaz wrenched his sword free.
“Tomaaz!”
He whirled to face the chaos inside. Lofty was trapped by the kitchen table, holding off two tharuks.
Tomaaz rushed in. One of the beasts whirled and charged him. Tomaaz danced aside, striking at its neck. The beast flicked its head, its tusk catching Tomaaz’s blade and ripping his sword from his grip. Tomaaz backed away, his foot hitting the hearth as the beast dropped its head to charge. He had to think fast.
The monster careened toward him. He grabbed the stew pot off the hearth and smashed it against the beast’s skull, knocking the tharuk to the floor, unconscious.
Lofty was standing over the other beast, dark stains on his sword. He raised his eyebrows. “We did it. We got them all.”
Fallen monsters lay among the shattered debris. People huddled in corners. Inside, there were no tharuks left standing. “Good job. I’ll check the rest of the house. Meet you outside.” Tomaaz picked up his sword and went through the back of the house, checking the bedrooms. No more beasts inside, and enough adults to take care of the wounded.
He and Lofty rushed out to help those still fighting tharuks. Even outside, the stench made Tomaaz want to gag. Raising their swords, they plowed into the fight, stabbing tharuks in the back of their knees, in the throat, or under the armpits, wherever they were most vulnerable. Back to back, they fought, battling the tusked beasts.
With a squeal, a boy went down. Tomaaz sprang to his aid, driving the tharuk off.
“They’re getting away,” Lofty called, slashing at a tharuk that had a torn ear.
The beast laughed.
Tomaaz jerked his head toward the village. A black swarm obscured the road—another troop of tharuks were heading for the town center. In the distance, a flicker caught his gaze. Buildings were burning!
“Pa!”
“Go,” called Lofty. “We’ll take care of these!”
Tomaaz raced down the road, his heart thundering. If tharuks breached the prison, Pa would be trapped. He veered off the road, running between rows of corn, acros
s fields so he wouldn’t be spotted.
Tomaaz was about halfway to town when he heard whimpering. He slowed. It was coming from behind a shed, so he crept along the rough wall.
“The girl, Lovina, where is she?”
Tomaaz froze.
It was Old Bill. There was a short cry, cut off by a slap. “There’ll be more than that, if you don’t answer now, boy!”
Lovina’s lash marks flashed before his eyes. Tomaaz drew his knife and ran around the corner.
“Don’t cut me anymore! Lovina’s at Ernst’s farm,” blurted a boy, being held by Old Bill against the shed. The whites of the lad’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
“You monster!” Tomaaz bellowed, running at Bill.
Bill flung the boy away, sneering, “And you’re the scum spawn of a dead dragon lover!” He ran off into the dark.
Dead dragon lover? Pa? Tomaaz’s heart lurched.
The sobbing boy crumpled to the ground. Tomaaz was torn. Should he chase Bill, look for Pa or check if the boy was injured? Sheathing his knife, Tomaaz knelt. It was one of the cooper’s littlings. “Is that you, Paolo?”
The lad gazed up. “Tomaaz?”
“It’s me. Are you hurt?”
“He cut my neck.” Paolo whimpered.
“Show me. Where?”
Paolo guided Tomaaz’s hand to a cut on his neck, about as long as his thumb, but thankfully, not too deep. Tomaaz ripped a strip off his tattered jerkin and gave it to Paolo. “It’s only a flesh wound. You’re a real warrior now. Here, hold this against it while we get you home.”
“I thought I could fight,” Paolo said, “so I sneaked out, but that bad man found me.” He sniffed.
“It’s all right,” Tomaaz said. “These tharuks are tricky, so I’ll get you home, but we have to be quick.” They slipped across fields toward the cooper’s yard, Tomaaz helping to keep the stumbling boy upright.
Suddenly, a light appeared. “Paolo! Paolo!” a woman’s voice called.
Tomaaz stopped Paolo from replying. “Quiet! Tharuks will hear you,” Tomaaz whispered. They’d hear his mother too. They rushed ahead, Tomaaz telling the woman to put out her lantern and keep her voice down. He explained what Bill had done. “Zens’ tharuks are attacking the township,” Tomaaz said. “Do you have weapons? People in your household that can wield a sword?”
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