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

by Eileen Mueller

  Bill would’ve beaten her if she’d ever worn his cloak.

  The coarse wool enveloped Lovina, an unfamiliar but comforting embrace.

  “We might need these too.” He grabbed his sword and a couple of blankets and guided her past his father’s rumbling snores to the door.

  The two of them slipped outside into the snow, tugging the door shut behind them. The chill wind was like an open-handed slap to Lovina’s face. She pulled the hood closer against the swirling snow.

  “This way,” he said, taking her around the back of the cabin to the outhouse.

  Thankfully, he was here. The air was so thick with snow, she probably would’ve gotten lost if she’d tried this on her own.

  “Careful.” Her took her uninjured arm, guiding her over a solid lump in the snow—maybe a log. Everything was indecipherable in this land of dark and murky white.

  It was a relief to finally get there and know someone was watching outside, and that she’d still be dry when she got back into bed—a luxury after sleeping on stone and dirt floors for years.

  Once she was done, they started back, Tomaaz wrapping an extra blanket around her.

  What were those shadows? They reminded her of—

  “Tharuks!” he whispered, close to her ear.

  §

  Tomaaz’s hand flew to his sword. Through dark flurries of snow, three or four shadowy figures were creeping up to the cabin door. The unmistakable odor of tharuk blew toward them. He couldn’t attack. He had to get Lovina to safety. His arm tightened around her shoulders and he drew her away, toward the trees. Pa was still sleeping, but he couldn’t go back for Pa. He’d made that mistake in Lush Valley. He could warn him, though. “Can you run?” he whispered in her ear.

  She nodded, and they dashed away from the cabin. Tomaaz’s boot hit a snow-covered stone. He lifted it and hurled it back at the cabin. It thunked on the roof.

  Tharuks snarled, loud enough to wake the dead. Now, Pa had warning.

  Tomaaz and Lovina raced off, snarls echoing through the trees behind them. At least one tharuk was following them. Thank the Egg, the wind was in their favor. The snow would erase their tracks, but the cold could kill them. Deeper into the trees they ran, zigzagging and leaping logs. Snow was falling in thick clumps. A roar penetrated the dark, but Tomaaz kept going, pulling Lovina after him by her good arm. She must be in agony, but, injured, she was no match for a tharuk.

  They plowed on.

  Dark shapes loomed ahead. Tomaaz slowed, placing a cautionary hand on Lovina’s arm as they approached. The shapes turned out to be boulders.

  “You shelter here while I get the tharuk,” he whispered, leaving her under an overhang.

  Lovina gave a mute nod.

  Tomaaz doubled back and hid behind a broad tree. In the eddying snow and blasting wind, it was hard to make out the beast until it was near. Its head was down, snout to the trail.

  Tomaaz waited until the beast had passed and, with the snow muffling his footfalls, struck from behind, jamming his sword into the back of the tharuk’s knee. The tharuk didn’t go down. It whirled, kicking snow in Tomaaz’s face, and slashed at his torso. Tomaaz struck it on the hand, then went for a low strike, aiming at the soft tissue of the beast’s belly. His blade bounced off armor. Avoiding the tharuk’s claws, he lunged, driving his sword up into its throat, and the tharuk dropped, face first, in the snow.

  The wind picked up, snow churning around him so he could hardly see, but finally he made it back to the boulders. Lovina passed him the blankets and he tied them around their shoulders. They were scant cover in a storm like this. Walking, he led Lovina, his other hand outstretched to prevent them from bumping into trees—or tharuks. What if there were more?

  Lovina, stumbled, yanking his arm, and went down.

  Tomaaz knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “J-just t-tired.” Her teeth were chattering, body wracked with shivers, and her hands were icy.

  Tomaaz held them, easing her to her feet. “There’s a cave around here somewhere, where the dragons are sheltering.” He had to find them, so they could help Pa. “Handel and Liesar can breathe fire to warm us up. It’ll be nice to be warm again, won’t it?”

  Lovina stared at him. “Do you know where the cave is?”

  “Ah …” She’d seen through him. His bravado leaked away, leaving him flat. “No, but our only chance of staying alive is to keep moving.”

  §

  It was like being in the clutches of numlock all over again: the gray obscuring her vision; the icy-cold nothingness inside her; the searing in her arm; the drudgery of one foot in front of the other, unable to think of much else. Right. Left. Step over a log. Right yourself from stumbling.

  The only warmth had been the hand clutching hers. Dragging her forward when she could no longer walk of her own volition.

  And now that hand was icy, too. Their blankets and cloaks were sodden, and they were chilled to the bone.

  Still, Tomaaz pulled her on. She knew why: if he stopped, they’d never get up again.

  Haven

  The gray of dawn gave way to a gray wall of rock that rose above the trees to their right.

  “There,” Tomaaz croaked, pointing at the pockmarked rock face. A flock of ruby swallows soared out of a cave, their underbellies flashing blood red against dark wings.

  Lovina didn’t even look up.

  His arm around her shoulder, they shuffled through the knee-deep snow. His shoulders sagged. Those caves were so close, but his legs were stone and feet were ice, making it a grueling task to get there.

  The first cave they came across was at ground level and far too shallow, with snowdrifts piled high inside. There were a couple of caves up high, but Lovina could hardly climb. Tomaaz scanned the sky for dragons. If only he was a rider and could mind-meld with Handel or Liesar.

  After stumbling further, there was an opening a few meters above them, half obscured by bush. It looked like there was a goat track to get up there.

  “Lovina.” Tomaaz peered into the cowl of her cloak. Her face was blank and eyes dark-ringed. “We might have found a place. Wait here while I check the track.”

  Her eyes darted to the trees. She nodded, hunching her shoulders and cradling her arm.

  Tomaaz checked for tharuks, then pushed himself to scurry up the short steep slope to the cave. Shoving aside the brush, he entered. Snow had piled to one side of the entrance, but not very far. The rest of the cave was roomy and dry. Reluctant to leave Lovina alone any longer, Tomaaz rushed back outside.

  She was gone.

  Dashing down the track, skidding and leaving brown gouges in the snow, he followed her tracks. Behind a tree trunk, a shadow moved against the snow.

  Lovina stepped out.

  “Gods, Lovina, I was worried.”

  “Sorry, I was sheltering from the wind.”

  Tomaaz laughed. “I’ve found a cave. It looks great.”

  For the first time since they’d run away from the tharuks, she smiled.

  §

  It was hard going, getting up to the cave. Lovina dragged herself inside, hoping to find some warmth, but it was bone-numbingly cold. It was dry, though. Her foot bumped something in the dark and she stumbled. She ran her hands over a rectangular wooden box. She tried to lift it, but, with only one good arm, the box was too bulky.

  “I’ve found a chest,” she called.

  Tomaaz came over. “Let me see.” He dragged it to the entrance, opening a bronze latch on one side. “Lovina, you’re fabulous. Look. This must be one of the safe caverns that Pa mentioned yesterday.”

  She inhaled sharply. This was better luck than a golden eagle, not that Lovina had seen one for years. The chest held dry clothes, tinder, a flint, candle stumps and some dried meat and fruit. Her mouth salivated at the sight of the food, and her hand shot out. She couldn’t help it. She was starving.

  “Here.” Tomaaz passed her some dried peaches. “Have these for now
, until we can get something warm into you.”

  The sweetness of the dried peaches made Lovina’s mouth water, but her teeth were chattering so hard it was difficult to chew.

  He dragged the chest back into the cave, and then struck the flint. It flared, and he lit a piece of tinder, holding it up so they could see their surroundings. “More luck.” Beaming, he gestured at a blackened pot sitting in a crude circle of stones, and a stack of firewood against the cavern wall. “We’ll have a hot drink in no time. Pass me that candle.”

  Tomaaz lit the candle stump and sat it on a high ledge, then gave Lovina a woolen undershirt and some breeches and a jerkin made of dark heavyweight fabric. “Um, you’ll have to strip your wet things so we can dry them. If you go back there, I’ll, ah … turn around and make a fire.” He blushed, the tips of his ears turning red, then busied himself with the wood.

  Still shivering, Lovina tried her best to pull her things off with one arm, but it took forever and she kept stumbling.

  “Are you managing?” he called, as the fire flared to life and the wood took.

  True to his word, he kept his back to her.

  She grunted. “A few more moments.” Abandoning all pretense at grace, Lovina sat on a cold boulder to tug her breeches up her numb legs one-handedly, and wriggled her way into her woolen undershirt. By then her arm was aching and she couldn’t hold the jerkin to get her good arm into it. “Um … my arm?”

  He was there in an instant, bringing her over to the fireside. He eased the jerkin over her shoulders and onto her good arm, and nestled her sore arm against her torso. “That’ll stop your arm from being bumped.” His cheeks flushed again as he buttoned the front with her arm still inside.

  “Right, time for a drink.” Snatching up the pot, he dashed out, returning with it half full of snow, and put it on the fire.

  When the water was simmering, he added a few dried berries and leaves from a pouch in his pocket. Grinning sheepishly, he said, “Ma was always chiding me for leaving too many things in my pockets. Today, it’s coming in handy.”

  A sweet aroma wafted from the pot.

  Soon they were sipping from mugs they’d found on a ledge, the crackling fire throwing its warmth out like an embrace.

  “Mm, what’s this?”

  “Soppleberry.” He winked. “The rumors that soppleberry tea has magical properties are just gossip, but it does taste good.”

  “That’s a shame, we could use some magic to turn those tharuks into rugs for our feet.”

  He chuckled, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

  The sound warmed Lovina as much as the tea.

  “Want another one?”

  Their hands bumped as he took her mug.

  Alarm shot through her. “You’re icy. You need to get some dry gear on.”

  He shook his head grimly. “Not until I get more firewood, scout around for food and erase our tracks.”

  Her dismay must’ve shown on her face, because he hurriedly added, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I can still see the cave. You’re safe here.”

  With him. Yes, despite her injuries and the tharuks hunting them outside, she was safer here than she had been in years.

  §

  Hard up against a trunk, tiny green shoots poked through the snow. Tomaaz pinched a tip with aching fingers and smelled them. It was bear leek. He uprooted some plants and stuffed them in his pockets, then covered the muddy hole with clean snow. They needed to find decent food, without leaving a trail.

  Behind the tree trunk were some rabbit droppings—not yet hard, by the look of them. The rabbit’s trail disappeared into a nearby burrow. The little blighter was coming out to feast on bear leeks, and there were plenty more, so it’d be back. If he could make a snare …

  Plucking some brown dogsbane reeds, Tomaaz twisted the strands to form two thin double-ply ropes. Curse his fingers for being so numb—it was taking ages. He kept checking the woods and glancing back at the cave. It was quiet for now. The longer he was out here, the higher the chance of being discovered. And he’d freeze if he didn’t get out of these damp clothes soon and into something warmer.

  There, the ropes were done. He twisted them into a snare, fumbling to tie them, then fastened one end to a bendy branch that would provide great tension for his trap and tied the other end to a twig in the ground.

  Carefully backing away so he wouldn’t set the snare off, Tomaaz heard a loud crack. He spun, heart pounding.

  It wasn’t a tharuk. A branch, laden with snow, had snapped and hit the ground, leaving the sharp scent of tree sap. He had to get out of here, back to Lovina.

  And find out if Pa was all right. Hopefully, he’d fought those tharuks off.

  Tomaaz grabbed some branches out of the snow for firewood and, dragging a leafy branch behind him to cover his trail, retreated back toward the cave. Every now and then, he dropped a bit of bear leek, covering it with a thin layer of snow, hoping the pungent oniony scent would mask his trail. He kicked snow off the sides of the goat track into the furrow he’d left earlier, dragging the leaves over the top. It was a poor cover-up job, but his legs were heavy and his hands were numb to the elbows.

  He paused at the entrance of their hideout. The fire was blazing. Lovina was standing at the rear of the cave, a charred stick in her hand, singing softly, with a beautiful clear voice that made his heart soar. She leaned in with unconscious grace, placing charcoal strokes to the boulder. She was drawing—with her good hand.

  But what was she drawing? What had her so transfixed that she hadn’t heard him?

  He was intruding on her private moment. Tomaaz felt his cheeks pinking. Awkward, but fascinated, he stayed, afraid to move in case he broke the spell.

  She added a few more lines to the stone, her body obscuring her art. Placing the stick against the wall, she rubbed at her stone canvas with her fingers, here and there, then stepped back. Still singing under her breath, she tilted her head, as if evaluating her picture. Her singing stopped, and she stood in silence for a long moment.

  Tomaaz’s arms were cramping with the effort of holding the firewood, and he was frozen to the bone, but moving now would be like admitting he’d been spying on her. Tomaaz cleared his throat.

  Lovina spun, her coal-smudged hand flying to cover her mouth. “Ah, h-how did you go?” she asked.

  He dropped the firewood in a heap and approached her, every step a leap across a chasm, his boots leaving pools of thawed snow in his wake.

  The firelight painted her features with its golden glow. Silently, she watched him, forget-me-not blue eyes locked on his.

  Tomaaz stopped close to her. Her eyes searched his face, brushing over every plane. No one had ever looked at him like that. As if she really saw him.

  With a flash of insight, he realized that no one had seen her the way he was seeing her now, either.

  He gestured at the stone. “Do you mind showing me?”

  “It’s nothing …” She shrugged nervously. “All right. You can see.”

  They both moved at once, bumping into each other. They stepped to the other side, bumping again. Lovina giggled and moved aside.

  It was him. In charcoal, on stone.

  She’d captured his tousled hair, the dimple in his left cheek.

  “Do I really tilt my head like that?”

  “Yes, and your eyes …”

  He tilted his head. “My eyes, what?”

  She scraped her foot back and forth on the floor, not meeting his gaze, and mumbled.

  He tilted her chin, so he could see her eyes. “What, Lovina?” he asked so softly, he barely breathed the words.

  Her forget-me-nots stared directly at him, and she whispered, “They’re full of kindness. You look at the world with love.”

  Her scarred back flashed to mind. The blazing pyre with his Pa tied to the stake. And her refusing to testify against Pa, even though she knew Bill would lash her. “And you’re brave. Courageous.”

  Her eyebrows flew up. “M-me? Brave?�
��

  “Brave.” He gestured at her art. She’d shown him a glimpse of her soul. Shown him himself, as she really saw him. “All those years with Bill, never giving up.”

  “My pictures kept me alive.” A tear slid down her cheek. “In Death Valley, Ma died, Da, my brothers …” Lovina sniffed. “There was a tharuk …” she whispered.

  Tomaaz stepped closer, angling his head so he could hear.

  “… 274, his name was. He liked my art. I drew him little sketches in the dirt with my fingers, or on a scrap of hide with coal. Rabbits, squirrels, owls …. He gave me extra food, hid me when they were beating slaves.” She shook her head. “My art kept me alive. Every day, I try to draw, thankful I survived.”

  He couldn’t help it. Tomaaz’s arms encircled her shaking shoulders, and he pulled her against his chest.

  She gently pushed him away. “Tomaaz! You’re freezing!”

  “Oh shards! I’m making you wet.” He waved her to the fireside. “Go and warm up while I get dry.”

  Grabbing some dry clothes from the chest, he went back to the boulder to get changed.

  His charcoal face stared at him, smiling, eyes filled with tenderness. How had she captured that? Her art was stunning. Amazing. But nowhere near as incredible as her.

  §

  After all Tomaaz had done for her, Lovina couldn’t sit idly. She put more wood on the fire and took the pot to the cavern mouth, filling it with clean snow. Pacing back to the fire, she caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and muscled back as he tugged on a woolen undershirt. She glanced away, her cheeks growing hot, and tossed a handful of dried fruit into the pot of melting snow. That one glimpse had warmed her faster than any campfire.

  Lovina bustled to the cave mouth. She dragged back one of the branches he’d fetched—her bad arm making her slow—and left it to dry by the fire. Her arm was aching, and her ribs, too, where Bill had kicked her. She’d healed before, though. Bill had hurt her more times than she could remember, layering pain upon hurt, gashes upon bruises. Lovina picked up the next branch.

  Suddenly, Tomaaz was there beside her, picking up the rest of the branches and dropping them near the fire.