Ruby Dragon

by Eileen Mueller

  Sam’s eyes flew wide. “Tonio?”

  “Hey, Sam.” Tonio strode over and helped him up.

  Sam’s leg was bleeding, but not too bad. Sam’s eyes flicked over the stranger’s assortment of weapons and that tough, pitted face.

  The stranger tilted his head, eying them both. “So, you two are the eyes and ears of Naobia.”

  Amato dismounted and stalked over, not meeting their gazes.

  How many golden dragon heads had that tough rider paid Amato to rat them out? Tonio shrugged. Trading information wasn’t illegal—well, that’s what Sam had told Amato when the green rider recently accused him of selling secrets to the Bloody Knives.

  “My dragon’s egg has been stolen,” the rider growled. “We need you to help us retrieve it.”

  Tonio sucked in his breath. No wonder the ruby dragon had been enraged.

  The stranger turned to Sam. “Your friend Tonio knows the terms—he set them. I’m Taren, the spymaster of Dragons’ Hold, and this is Renath.” He waved at the fierce ruby dragon.

  If they did well, maybe Master Taren would put in a word for them at Dragons’ Hold, where dragon riders trained.

  Amato gestured to Renath. “Place your hand on her head.”

  Sweat beaded Sam’s forehead.

  Tonio’s own neck felt clammy as Renath lowered her enormous scaled head, her wild orange eyes taking them in. Like that maw could take them in, if she was hungry. Tonio swallowed, reaching out his hand. Flames, it was shaking. Then again, so was Sam’s. He pressed his hand against the dragon’s warm scaly forehead to hide his trembling fingers.

  Giving him a sheepish glance, Sam did the same.

  “Find my egg.” The dragon’s voice blazed through Tonio’s mind, like a sunset setting the world on fire. They were mind-melding. An image shot into his head—a creamy egg, veined with scarlet. “My egg was stolen up north by someone heading this way.” Renath’s sadness washed over him. “Bring my baby back.”

  “I will.” Tonio bowed.

  “Taren’s offered coin, but I’d be grateful to you for life.”

  Claws, Marius would be jealous. There was no way Tonio could ever tell him.

  Taren chuckled. “I’m glad you’re sympathetic to our cause.”

  “You could sense that?” Sam asked.

  “Renath shared your reactions with me.” The spymaster arched his eyebrows. “So, you’re in?”

  They nodded. As if they could do otherwise.

  Taren climbed into Renath’s saddle. “I’ll leave you with Amato to sort out the details.”

  Renath snorted at them and winked an orange eye. Muscles rippling in her scaly haunches, she sprang above the orchard, winging toward the city.

  Amato grimaced at the blood seeping through Sam’s breeches. “I’d best take a look at that.”

  He was only a few years older than them. Did he think he was their father?

  Sam shrugged. “It’s nothing. Leave it.”

  “By the flaming Egg, it’s not nothing. Look, your breeches are soaked already.” Amato’s eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding, Sam?” He drew his knife and lunged, slitting Sam’s breeches from knee to boot.

  Sam’s bandage had unraveled, revealing a bleeding gash on his calf.

  Amato gave a low whistle. “That’s not from a branch. It’s blade work. Have you been selling tips to the Bloody Knives again?” His eyes flitted to Tonio. “Or was it the Shadow Stalkers this time?”

  Tonio cleared his throat. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Amato shook his head. “You’d better hope Marius doesn’t find out. He’d thrash the scales off you.”

  As if he hadn’t already.

  “I said, leave off.” Sam retied the bandage over his wound and stuffed his torn breeches into his socks.

  “I think you need to see a healer, but suit yourself.” Amato climbed on Matotoi.

  “Wait,” Tonio called. “Who took the egg?”

  “A cloaked man, heading here. That’s all we know.” Amato nodded grimly. “Keep your noses clean, and don’t disappoint Master Taren.”

  Matotoi’s scales flashed in the sunlight as he leapt over the trees and sped back to town.

  Sam’s eyes blazed. “Shrotty green guard.”

  Amato wasn’t that bad. Tonio’s flicked a hand at his friend’s torn breeches. “So, how did you get that?”

  “I followed a mage onto the Knives’ turf—a tall menacing mage who looked like he meant business. Biter saw me and got mean because the Stalkers got that strongwood chest of weapons I tipped him off about.”

  Biter—the leader of The Bloody Knives—was bad news. “It’s a dangerous game we’re playing,” Tonio said. “Maybe we should stop before we’re dragon ash.”

  Sam glared. “We can’t buy your ma’s healing tonic with nothing. You said so yourself.”

  When Ma had taken a bad turn two moons ago, they’d started trading the same secrets to both gangs—Sam to the Knives and Tonio to the Shadow Stalkers. Although Amato had found out about one tip-off, he’d kept his trap shut, so neither of the gangs knew—yet.

  Tonio shrugged. “I never wanted you hurt.”

  “I know.” Sighing, Sam fished in his pocket. “Grubio only gave me a few coppers. He might be onto us.”

  “The spymaster will give us two golden dragon heads for that egg.”

  Sam whistled. “With what we already have, that might give us enough for that tonic.” He bumped Tonio’s knuckles. “Told you we’d find a way. Now all we have to do is find that egg.”

  A scale in a haystack. “What about that mage you were tailing? Is he from around here?”

  “No, but I know where he’s heading.”

  Tonio leaned in, barely breathing. “And?”

  “He’s meeting Biter tonight at the Bloody Knives’ hideout.”

  “We should check it out. I’ll meet you on the rooftops at dusk. I’d better get to work before I earn more bruises.”

  “And I’ve got potater deliveries.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Someday I’ll stop being Pa’s lackey.”

  “What about your leg?”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Sam winked. “I’ll ask the pretty healer’s daughter to slip me some piaua juice. By evening, I’ll be right as rain.”

  If only piaua juice could cure Ma’s wasting sickness.

  Trouble

  Tonio darted across the yard, hiding behind the old oak tree. So far, so good. He raced to the stables and scaled the outside ladder to the hayloft’s open shutters. Then he climbed inside and sneaked to the loose plank in the wall. He lifted it and dropped today’s coin into his pouch, muffling the clinks with his fingers as he counted his stash. His heart thrummed. He had nearly a dragon head’s worth in silvers and coppers. If he could earn another silver and get those two dragon heads from the stranger, he’d be able to afford Ma’s tonic.

  Not long now, and she’d be healthy. He grinned. She had no idea he’d been saving for her. No idea of his dealings.

  Tonio was nearly down the hayloft ladder when something swished behind him, smacking the back of his thighs. Legs searing, he arched his back and tumbled down the last few rungs. He sprawled onto the ground.

  Marius, his brawny step-brother, towered over him, welding the birch switch. “How’d you sneak in? The outside ladder?” He booted Tonio in the ribs.

  Pain exploded in Tonio’s side. He kicked out and rolled to stand. Marius was too fast. The birch struck Tonio across the shoulders. He stumbled, smacking his head on the wall. Everything went black.

  §

  Splintering wood woke Tonio. Gods, his legs ached, and his back, where he’d fallen.

  Marius peered over the edge of the hayloft, waving Tonio’s coin sack. “Found your stash, you little sneak.”

  Tonio’s body broke out in a cold sweat. “It’s for Ma,” he croaked. “For healing tonic.”

  “Save your breath, and your coin,” Marius sneered. “She’s dying, Tonio.”

  �
��No!” Tonio and Sam had been scheming for moons to fund Ma’s healing. There was still hope. He knew it.

  “Been scamming folk in town again? You should do your chores,” Marius growled. “This coin’s now mine.”

  Tonio groggily clambered to his feet. Marius hadn’t always been like this, but, then again, nothing had been the same since Pa had died from a horse kick and Marius had blamed himself for not holding the horse properly. If Pa hadn’t died, Marius would’ve been hand-fasted to Karina, the tailor’s daughter—instead, he now had Tonio and Ma hanging around his neck.

  Marius thundered down the ladder and jumped from halfway. Tonio grabbed Marius around the waist and knocked him to the ground, but his step-brother rolled and straddled Tonio, punching his face.

  Hot blood gushed over Tonio’s cheeks and filled his mouth. His nose throbbed.

  Marius stood and tossed a shovel on the ground near Tonio. He turned in the doorway, a dark shadow against the sun. “Muck the stables out before I return from the tavern.” He stomped off, Tonio’s precious coin clinking.

  Gods, no! Marius would drink the lot and come home meaner than a dragon with belly gripe. Tonio shuffled to the first stall. Holding back hot tears, he pushed the spade into a pile of horse dung. Fire seared across his thighs and shoulders, and his belly and side ached. Blood from his nose splattered the dirty hay as the stench of dung clogged his nose and throat.

  §

  Tonio eased Ma’s door open, shutting it softly behind him. “Morning, Ma.” The cloying scent of the wasting sickness filled his nostrils.

  “Open the curtains, love. I’d like to see the old oak.”

  Tonio padded over and tugged them open. He cracked the window open to let in fresh air. A breeze rustled the oak’s leaves into a sea of shimmering greens. He steeled himself before turning back to Ma.

  Her eyes were sunken, cheeks hollowed out. She lifted a shrunken arm and flopped it back on the bed. “Come, sit with me.”

  Every day, the disease ravaged her further. Each day, Tonio asked himself if it would be her last. His eyes stung. And now, his coin was gone.

  Her watery gaze scanned his face. “Son…” Her fingers fumbled with her floral quilt.

  Tonio tugged up her quilt and kissed her brow. “How can I help?”

  “Stay home, so Marius doesn’t beat you.”

  As if that would help. He had to get coin for her. Had to help that dragon. And he’d gladly take ten more beatings to save Ma.

  §

  On the way to town, Tonio stopped at the bend in the river to collect some herbs. They wouldn’t fetch much, but it was better than nothing. He got to market just as Sam returned to his father’s potater stand with his empty barrow.

  Sam let out a low whistle. “More bruises? Even though I hate green guards, you should tell Amato.”

  Tonio’s gaze slid across the stall owners packing up, green guards strolling among them, inspecting their goods as the dragons watched. Another green dragon flew overhead. All probably hunting for that egg. “Marius found my stash. He’s taken every coin I saved. It’s gone. Every last copper, and even the silver Crum gave me today.”

  Sam’s hands balled into fists. “Your shrotty step-brother should be tossed in the Naobian Sea. I don’t care how your father died, whether Marius thinks it’s his fault.”

  Tonio sighed. “Come on, I’ve got something for the apothecary.”

  Sam mock-punched Tonio’s arm. “We’ll find that egg. Earn it back.”

  They strode past stalls into an alley. “Here, use this on your wounds.” Sam took a vial of pale-green piaua juice from his pocket. “Although it’s precious, it only cost me a few kisses.”

  “You kissed her again?”

  Sam grinned, scratching his neck. “She likes it, too.”

  Tonio ducked into a doorway and Sam rubbed the juice into his shoulders, thighs and the dark bruises on his ribs. As the juice seared through his skin, the bruising receded and the throbbing eased. Tonio rubbed a drop onto his aching nose. “Phew, this stuff burns.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sam said. “But at least my leg’s good now.”

  Tonio kept his voice low. “Did you see that mage again?”

  Sam snorted. “Not a chance. Too busy lugging potaters. We’ll check out the Bloody Knives hideout.”

  “Good, after the apothecary.” Tonio pocketed the piaua vial and they strode down the lane.

  Inside the apothecary, pouches of herbs and jars of colored powder were crammed onto shelves. On the very top shelf was a dark-blue bottle with a golden label: Wasting Sickness Tonic. The price tag was three dragon heads—now so far out of reach.

  The apothecary glared. “No stealing.”

  Sam gazed back, wide-eyed. “Stealing? Course not, sir.”

  Tonio sidled up to the counter. “Interested in a new crop of fresh bear leek?”

  The apothecary rolled his eyes. “As if you had some.”

  Tonio pulled a succulent leaf from his pocket and crushed it. Onion scent wafted from it. “Ripe for the picking, but if you’re not keen…” He turned away.

  “All right,” the apothecary snapped, plonking three coppers onto the counter.

  Tonio snatched up the coin and pocketed it. Three lousy coppers. Marius was drinking the rest away in the Boar and Brisket. “It grows beyond the cartwright’s, in a grove of strongwoods at the river’s bend.” He pointed at the golden-labeled bottle. “What would you trade for that dusty old bottle?”

  “Top of the range, that is. Not for the likes of you.” The apothecary shook his head, jowls wobbling. “Three dragon heads. Not a copper less. That potion was brewed under a silver-blue moon and contains arnica from the slopes of Dragons’ Hold.”

  “Come on,” wheedled Sam. “You know his ma has the wasting sickness.”

  “Makes it more valuable then, doesn’t it?” The man came out from behind the counter, climbed onto a rickety stool and fetched the bottle.

  Tonio’s fingers flexed, ready. He could almost feel the smooth glass in his hands.

  But the apothecary didn’t hand the tonic over. Instead, he dipped a quill in a pot of ink and changed the price to four dragon heads.

  Tonio gasped.

  “You stubborn old coot,” Sam spat. “Not a lick of sympathy.”

  “Get out, or I’ll make it five dragon heads,” the apothecary growled.

  “Keep your flaming coin.” Tonio tossed the coppers onto the counter. They stalked through the door.

  “Good riddance.” The apothecary slammed the door behind them and locked it.

  “Why did you give him back his coin?” Sam snapped. “You earned that.”

  Tonio shrugged. The dragon gods were against him. He dragged his feet across the cobbles of the city streets, pushing past people heading home, Sam fuming at his side. They slunk through the alleys and back streets, dusk wrapping its dark blanket around them.

  Soon they reached the shady side of town where houses were crammed together like soldiers in a bloody battle. They ducked down a dead-end alley and stopped at the back of a ramshackle store. Tonio checked the street. No one was around.

  Sam jumped on a rain barrel and shimmied up the drain pipe to the rooftop. Tonio followed. When they were both panting on the wooden shingles, Sam sat and fished some rags from his pocket. Silently, they wrapped them around their boots to muffle their tread. A wagon trundled through the alley below, the clop of hooves echoing off the buildings.

  They stole across rooftops until they reached the large warehouse—the Bloody Knives’ headquarters. Tonio leaned over the edge of the roof and looked down. In the lamplight from an open door below, the top of a bald head gleamed—Biter, the leader of the Bloody Knives, was waiting for a visitor.

  Tonio yanked his head back and put a finger to his lips. Horse hooves struck cobbles. The rattle of wagon wheels drew closer, then halted. Muffled voices floated up. A door creaked. The horse and cart pulled inside the warehouse. The voices receded and the door thudded shu
t.

  “It was Biter,” Tonio hissed.

  “Hang onto your ears,” Sam whispered.

  Tonio grimaced. Last year, during a brawl between the Bloody Knives and the Shadow Stalkers, the leader of the Knives had ripped the Stalkers’ leader’s earlobe off with his teeth. Since then, they were known as Biter and Half-Ear. He scanned the alley again. “Still clear. No one’s guarding the entrance.”

  Sam produced a rope from his knapsack and tied it to a chimney stack. Tonio fastened the other end around his waist and swung over the edge of the roof. He kicked open the shutters to the loft window, dropped to the narrow window ledge, eased the glass up, and climbed inside. Then he unfastened the rope from around his waist.

  Moments later, Sam dropped down the rope and clambered into the loft.

  Light glimmered through the floorboards. They tiptoed their way over to a broken board and peered through the gap.

  It wasn’t much of a view. Biter and his cronies were gathered around a wagon, a suspicious hay-covered lump in the wagon bed. The driver was clever—his horse was facing the door for a quick getaway.

  A cloaked figure leaped from the wagon, green sparks flitting from his fingertips. “Birthed by the spymaster’s own dragon, this is a rare find,” the mage purred. “One you’re unlikely to find again in your illustrious career.”

  Illustrious career—that was a joke. Biter was nothing more than a thug.

  Sam nudged Tonio.

  They barely dared breathe. The Knives were ruthless. If they were caught, they’d get their throats slit or their giblets cast from a pirate ship to prowling sharks.

  “I took a significant risk acquiring this. It’s a great investment.” The mage waved his hands and the hay slid off the hump, revealing an ivory egg with ruby veins gleaming in the lamplight like fresh blood.

  “Lucky I’m taking it off your hands,” Biter crooned. “You wouldn’t want that pesky dragon and spymaster breathing down your neck.”

  “Now there, pretty boy, this is my egg, not yours yet—not until you’ve paid.”

  “Wait a few days,” Biter snapped. “The Stalkers just stole our loot.”

  “And leave this precious cargo here? Perhaps I should trade with the Stalkers instead.” The mage waved a hand, and a magical breeze sifted hay back over the egg. He turned his back and walked to the horse, pulling its reins. “Come on, Dapple.”