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

by Eileen Mueller

  A rush of dizziness hit Tomaaz, and he closed his eyes, gripping the saddle. Shards! If this was flying, Pa could have it. There was no way he wanted to feel this rotten all the time. Leaning low in his saddle, he focused on the silver dragon’s neck scales, breathing slowly. He’d never had a great head for heights, but he hadn’t ever felt this bad. Then again, he’d never been this high.

  In the saddlebag in front of him, Lovina’s eyes were shut. She’d woken late afternoon for a few sips of broth, then dozed off again. Even in sleep, her face was drawn in pain. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, her splinted arm resting on them. She started fitfully, muttering in her sleep.

  Risking further nausea, Tomaaz leaned over and tugged her blanket up.

  §

  Hans hunched low in the saddle as Handel circled down and landed by the forest near Western Settlement.

  “It’s eating at you, not knowing how she is, isn’t it?” melded his dragon.

  “Yes, I have to know if Marlies is alive. I’ll be back soon.” Hans jogged off toward Nick’s inn. He passed a few cottages, silent and empty. A door banged in the breeze.

  On the outskirts of town, glass from the inn’s shattered windows crunched underfoot. The front door was ripped off its hinges. Hans paused by the hollow doorway. This wrecked carcass had been home to Nick, Esmeralda, little Urs, and any other littlings they’d had. Using his dragon sight, he scoured the inn: no one alive but no dead either.

  Sword drawn, he walked through the yard. The eastern wing was charred debris. The stable doors were smashed and the stench of rotten burned horseflesh hung on the air.

  Hans melted into the shadows and raced back to the forest. As he barged through the trees to where Handel and Liesar were waiting, Tomaaz jumped up, nocking an arrow.

  “It’s only me,” Hans called.

  “Phew! You put the breeze up my spine, there.” Tomaaz lowered his bow, then peered at him. “What is it, Pa?”

  Was he that easy to read? Hans shook his head. “I went looking for an old friend. I was hoping he had news of your mother …”

  “And?”

  “His home has been destroyed and he and his family are gone,” muttered Hans. “I can only hope he’s fast enough that tharuks don’t find him.”

  Their unspoken question hung thickly in the night air. What about Marlies?

  §

  After traveling all night, Tomaaz’s backside ached. For the hundredth time, he adjusted Lovina’s covers. At least he could stretch and move. She must be feeling worse, all hunched up in a saddlebag like that. Her face was so pale. The dark rings under her eyes hadn’t improved, even though she’d slept for most of their journey.

  For a moment, he compared her to Beatrice. She didn’t have Beatrice’s obvious beauty, but then he doubted she’d spit on anyone either. There was a gentleness about Lovina that surprised him. After so many years of Bill’s abuse, he’d have expected bitterness or resentment.

  She stirred. Her eyes opened, meeting his. She tried to talk, but only croaked.

  Tomaaz leaned forward, holding the waterskin to her lips. “Here, you must be parched.”

  Lovina drank deeply. Wincing, she adjusted her position—no mean feat with only one good arm.

  Tomaaz gave her some dried arnica flowers to chew against the pain.

  “Look,” Lovina said, gesturing with her healthy arm at the sweeping mountains behind them and the Flatlands stretching miles to distant peaks in the West.

  A broad river divided the plains from a forest that spread to the feet of severe snow-clad peaks to the north—it looked like days of flight away. It was so vast and open after living between the Grande Alps.

  “It’s quite something,” Tomaaz replied. “I’ve never been beyond the Grande Alps before.”

  “I have.” Lovina was silent for a few moments. “But I’ve never seen any of it without fog. Not that I remember, anyway.” She turned to him. “Thank you for giving me clear-mind berries.”

  “It was nothing.” Heat crept up Tomaaz’s neck.

  “No,” said Lovina. “It’s everything.”

  §

  They’d been underway for less than a day, when a chill wind rippled in from the west. Shading his eyes, Hans scrutinized the sky. In the distance, above the Terramites, a boiling stew of black cloud was thickening.

  “Handel and Liesar, we may have to take shelter.” Years of being away from Dragons’ Hold, and now, when they were only two days’ flight away, they’d have to stop. “Or should we fly on, through the storm?”

  “Easy, Hans,” Handel cautioned. “The girl’s health is delicate.”

  “Exactly why we shouldn’t have brought her,” Hans said.

  “We have a duty to care for those wronged by Zens,” Handel replied.

  Hans sighed. He had no reply to that, and Handel knew it. “Are there any friendly way-stops nearby?”

  Liesar answered, “Star Clearing should be fine. It’s only a short flight, and I don’t think our enemies have ransacked it yet. No one is likely to attack in a blizzard, so you’ll be safe enough if Handel and I shelter in one of the nearby caves.”

  It was good to hear her voice in his head. They’d lived too long without dragons. If only Marlies were here, with the four of them melding, he’d feel complete. But he had to stop second-guessing her decision to help Zaarusha. They owed the queen. “Handel, I haven’t been able to see anything about Marlies yet. Have you had any luck?” Hans pulled his hood up against the cold.

  “I’ve seen some vague images, but nothing definite yet.”

  “What were they?”

  “I’d rather wait until I have something concrete, Hans.”

  Well, some things hadn’t changed. Handel still hid portents of bad news.

  §

  Oh gods, Tomaaz was beautiful. His face lit with concern as he leaned over to tuck her in. The wind ruffled his blond hair and made his eyes shine.

  But if Lovina wasn’t mistaken, he was slightly off-color. Despite the wind blasting his cheeks, his face was pale; and every now and then, a shudder passed through him. He sometimes glanced at the horizon, but never down at the landscape, instead keeping his eyes glued to the dragon’s neck—when he wasn’t looking at her.

  There it was again. He gripped the saddle harder, his knuckles turning white, panic flashing across his features. Poor guy.

  Still, he was lucky to have parents and a sister. People who loved him.

  “Are you all right, Lovina?” He held her forearm securely, easing the blanket out from under it, so it wouldn’t hurt. Then he placed her arm against her body and pulled the blankets up over her. “Your fingers are so cold,” he said.

  As if she mattered.

  “Thank you.” She hadn’t even realized her arm was half frozen until it was nestled against her—or that her bandaged broken fingers had stopped aching because they were so numb.

  His soft smile made her feel cherished.

  Stupid, stupid. He was just making sure she was comfortable. It was nothing special. Nothing personal. Just the healer’s son looking after his charge. Lovina sighed. Life was one endless round of pain. And Tomaaz was no exception. As soon as she was healed, he’d ignore her, like everyone else did.

  §

  Tomaaz squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to Liesar’s neck, trying to shake the dizziness. Liesar swooped. Not again. His stomach lurched, threatening to turf his lunch into the air—or worse, over Lovina. He swallowed back bile, stifling a groan. Thank the Egg, Lovina wasn’t awake to see his discomfort. Actually, this was torture.

  Lovina’s lash marks flitted to mind. No, this was nothing. He had to face his flight sickness with courage. Sitting up straight, Tomaaz opened his eyes. Trees loomed and receded as Liesar executed a tight spiral.

  He snapped his eyes shut again. Lovina was awake, watching him. He stifled another groan, not from nausea but from embarrassment. He’d fought tharuks, slain them, but couldn’t stomach riding a dragon.

  Her
hand closed over his and she squeezed his fingers.

  Tomaaz couldn’t respond, his fingers grasping the saddle in a death grip.

  With a whump, Liesar was on the ground.

  After a few deep breaths, Tomaaz opened his eyes.

  Pa approached and patted Liesar’s hide. “Well done, girl, a lovely landing.”

  Right, absolutely lovely. Tomaaz swallowed, clearing the acid from his throat.

  “How did you like flying?” Pa asked, eyes shining. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  “Sure,” Tomaaz replied with fake enthusiasm. “Really great.”

  Lovina would know he was a hypocrite, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Pa that flying wasn’t for him. He’d go to Dragons’ Hold to see Ezaara, but he’d never be a dragon rider.

  Snowed In

  The wolf had left a few hours before dawn. Any longer and Marlies would’ve frozen on that ledge. Dark clouds scudded toward her, their swiftness taking her breath away. Snow was coming—soon. The wind picked up. She tightened her jerkin and cloak and tugged on her gloves, then leaned into the wind, making her way through the snowy drifts across the trail.

  Higher up, the wind howled and the snow drifts grew. She’d never make it to Devil’s Gate today. Still, if she couldn’t travel, neither could tharuks. Now, she desperately needed a place to hunker down.

  Around a corner, the trail widened. A snowdrift as high as her shoulder was piled along the mountain’s leeward side. This was as good a place as any. Taking off her rucksack, she retrieved a littling-sized spade. The Lush Valley blacksmith had made two of them for the twins when they were in their fourth summer. Shaking off a pang of longing for her family, Marlies dug a tunnel at the base of the snowdrift.

  When it was the length of her torso, she lay on her back and wriggled into the narrow passage. She dug, angling upward to create a level sleeping chamber that could be warmed with her body heat. Her arms ached after the ordeal with the wolf, but she kept digging.

  Thoughts of her family chipped away at her. Years ago, Dragons’ Hold had been a political thorn bush. Ezaara was so impulsive. Was she stabbing herself on those thorns? Would she fail as Queen’s Rider and be cast out?

  And Tomaaz? As a littling, he’d brought her lame rabbits, butterflies with torn wings and friends with scraped knees, begging her, with tears in his eyes, to heal them. Now he was older, more resilient, but if tharuks attacked Lush Valley, would they shred him with their claws? Or would their brutality shred his heart?

  She attacked the snow with her shovel. Her own desperation to have children had put her in this fix. If she hadn’t reached out to Zaarusha’s baby, hadn’t touched what was forbidden, they wouldn’t have been living in a sheltered backwater. Their children would have grown up at Dragons’ Hold, strong and prepared.

  Then again, if the dragonet hadn’t blessed her with fertility, she may never have had children.

  And she had.

  Marlies had never known Ezaara was going to become Queen’s Rider. In a moment of hope, she’d given Ezaara a name that had a syllable common with Zaarusha’s name, but she’d never dared dream it would happen. She pushed the loose snow over her belly and out of the tunnel.

  When Marlies scrambled out, the temperature had plummeted. Black cloud raced overhead. An icy blast hit her. She snatched up her rucksack and crawled back inside, dragging it by a strap. Marlies broke a fire bean and lit a candle, warming her numb hands over the meager flame.

  Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since before dawn, and was exhausted, but she couldn’t rest yet. She hollowed a shelf at the end of the chamber for her rucksack and sculpted the ceiling to prevent water dripping on her as the chamber warmed up.

  Unrolling a tightly-bound oilskin, she laid it on the floor and put her traveling quilt on top. Marlies chewed a piece of stale flatbread. She had more bread, some dried meat and a few of Giant John’s vegetables, but she didn’t dare eat those now. She needed to save them for Death Valley in case Zaarusha’s son was too weak to fly.

  With her sword, Marlies created a small ventilation hole in the roof. The weather still raged outside, but the thick layer of snow insulated her against the storm, so it was only a distant hum.

  Now, she’d talk to Hans. She took out her calling stone, rubbing it. The surface stayed cold and flat. Sighing, she burrowed into her quilt.

  Hours later, Marlies was still listening to the drip drip drip of water from the ceiling.

  She rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but it was fruitless. She was stuck again, helpless, not knowing what danger her family was in. Sitting here, she was unable to help Zaarusha or her captive son.

  Unable to repay the blood debt she owed her queen.

  Star Clearing

  A blizzard raged outside, drifts piling up against the cabin. They’d barely made it here yesterday with enough time to unload the supplies and bring in firewood before the storm had hit. The upside was not being flight sick any more. Well, that and Lovina not being cramped in a saddlebag.

  Pa had passed the time teaching Tomaaz and Lovina about Dragons’ Hold and dragon rider history. He’d even mentioned the many safe caves scattered throughout the realm, supplied with food and gear for emergencies. But Tomaaz was itching for action. Being cooped up inside wasn’t his idea of fun.

  Neither was fighting tharuks, although Pa was keen to teach him about that, too.

  “You’re right, Son. The best place to wound them are the vulnerable spots where their fur isn’t so matted, like their armpits, under their chins and behind their knees.”

  “Oh, and their eyes,” Tomaaz replied, whittling a stick before the fire.

  Lovina was in a chair, bundled up in a quilt, still pale and obviously in pain.

  Tomaaz lifted a pot off the fireplace and tipped some water into a mug, adding herbs. “This pain draft might help,” he said, setting it on a stump before her. “Just let it cool for a while.”

  She nodded, staring at the fire.

  Had he done something to upset her? Was it her injuries, or was something else bothering her? Over the last few hours, she’d withdrawn.

  Pa threw some onions into a pot with dried meat and herbs. “At Dragons’ Hold, we’ll eat better than this. You’ll be trained up and tested as a rider. If you’re lucky, you might imprint with a blue dragon and be called to the blue guards.”

  Him? Dragon rider material? Tomaaz doubted it. “Blue guards—like the ones now in Lush Valley?”

  Pa nodded. “They’re stationed in Montanara. A friend of mine was captain of the green guards in Naobia. Further to the west, there are red guards; and browns in the far north. It’s essential that we patrol our borders to prevent enemies from taking the realm.”

  “If we have all these guards, how did Zens get so much power?”

  “Zens is from a world with deep knowledge about how nature works, how bodies and minds can be controlled. He came through a world gate and began creating tharuks, sexless beasts, that he grows somehow, like we grow a plant from a cutting.” Deep furrows ridged Pa’s brow. “When I was on the dragon council, we had no idea how, but I’m hoping they’ve made some progress.” He shook his head. “It’s been twenty-five years since Zens arrived, and if we don’t defeat him soon, we never will.”

  §

  Lovina was sobbing. Pulling back his blankets, Tomaaz padded across the floor. He was halfway when the sobbing stopped. An unnatural stillness followed.

  Should he comfort her or go back to bed? She obviously didn’t want him to know she was upset, saving her tears for the middle of the night. The whisper of a tight inhalation—as if she was afraid to breathe—made up his mind. No one should live with that much fear.

  Approaching the bed, Tomaaz sat on his heels, his face at the same height as Lovina’s pillow. “I’m here. Lovina. You’re safe.”

  Another tight sharp gasp in the darkness.

  This might take time, and the fire had died completely. Tomaaz went back to his bedside and grabbe
d his shirt and jerkin, pulling them on. When he reached her bedside again, he whispered, “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes.” Lovina’s voice was so thin he had to strain to hear it.

  Tomaaz sat by her bedside, waiting for her breathing to relax into a normal cadence. “How long did you live with Bill?” he asked. Not that you could call it living.

  “Eight years.”

  So long—and they must’ve been nightmare years. But it made sense; they’d been bringing cloth to Lush Valley since he was about nine. “I’m glad you’re not with him now.”

  “Me too. Um …”

  He waited, but she didn’t finish her sentence. “How can I help?”

  §

  Help? All he’d done was help her.

  And she’d repaid him by dragging him out of his bed, so he could sit here, freezing in the dark.

  “Lovina, what can I do?” He spoke gently, as if she was a precious vase that might shatter.

  She wasn’t precious. Already broken, she was far beyond healing. She’d never be whole again—no matter how gently he spoke or how tenderly he applied his healing herbs. Tomaaz, with the future shining in his eyes, could never put the shards of her life back together. The Lovina she’d been would never be there again. Although she was free, the fragments Zens and Bill had left her in were worthless, best crunched underfoot.

  “Would you accompany me out back?” She coughed, embarrassed. She should go on her own; her legs weren’t broken, only her arm.

  A quiet chuckle escaped him. “Of course. Just let me grab some warmer clothes.” He pulled on the heavy cloak he’d worn when he’d gone outside for more wood.

  She got out of bed, and he passed her a jerkin, which she put on, leaving her arm out of the sleeve. He draped another cloak around her.

  “No!” she whispered, shrugging it off. “That’s your father’s.”

  “He won’t mind,” Tomaaz whispered in the dark, pulling the cloak around her again, and tugging the hood over her hair. “He’ll be happier if you use it than if I let you get sick.”