Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures

by Eileen Mueller

  “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.

  Now that she’d seen them, she couldn’t help but notice his arms and back as he worked. Lovina stirred the fruit tea, biting her lip. He wasn’t hers; never would be.

  Tomaaz hung a sodden blanket over the half-open entrance
. “To stop anyone seeing our fire,” he explained. “The wool’s dark enough not to be noticed.” He hung the other blanket near the fire to dry and busied himself with the mugs.

  “No,” she said, taking the mugs from him awkwardly with one hand. “You sit by the fire. You’re tired and cold.”

  He protested. She’d known he would. “You looked after me before,” she said, setting the mugs on a rock. “Now it’s my turn.” She poured the water and fruit into the mugs and passed one to him.

  He smiled, inhaling the steam. “I feel warmer already.” His green eyes shone in the firelight, like those pearlescent-green Naobian seashells she’d seen in her travels.

  Like he liked her.

  But how could he? Her body would heal, but inside, she was broken beyond repair.

  §

  Cold stone floor. Glowing embers. Where was he? A scream jolted him into reality.

  Lovina! He scrambled around the fire.

  Still asleep, she took another deep breath. Gods, what if a tharuk heard her? He shook her shoulder.

  Her eyes flew open, fear contorting her face.

  “Lovina, it’s me, Tomaaz. You were having a nightmare. Sorry, I thought someone might hear you.”

  “Tomaaz?”

  He liked the way his name fell from her lips.

  She sat up. Shuddering. “I was back in Death Valley. They were beating Ma …” A sob wracked her frame, then another.

  Tomaaz stirred the embers with a stick, not sure what to do.

  She kept crying.

  He slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight against his side, cradling her head against his shoulder, letting her cry.

  A Nasty Surprise

  Marlies woke to the patter of drips from the ceiling. She’d been stuck in the snow cave for days. She wriggled the sword in the ventilation shaft to dislodge the loose snow. Something was different. She cocked her head. It was quiet outside; the storm had stopped.

  She threw her things in her rucksack. She had to get out of here before tharuk patrols came over from Devil’s Gate. Surely, she wasn’t that far away now. How in the Egg’s name was she going to free a captive dragon? Marlies sighed. She’d figure that out later.

  She slid her rucksack down the tunnel mouth and kicked it out of the tunnel. Marlies scrambled upright.

  A snarl sounded behind her. Whirling, she gripped her sword. Two tharuks were running down the trail at her.

  Snatching her bow and quiver off her rucksack, Marlies nocked an arrow and shot. It flew straight into a tharuk’s snout. It let out a roar of pain and clutched at the arrow, trying to yank it out. That would only make it angry. Loosing another arrow, she hit it in the head and it toppled across the track.

  But now the other tharuk was nearly on her. Marlies leaped sideways. It slashed out, catching her shoulder and upper arm. Her sword arm throbbed, the cold air stinging the gashes.

  The tharuk was on her again. Marlies cringed into the icy mountain face, cowering before the tharuk; a risky move, but a risk she’d take. As the snarling beast prowled closer, she gripped the rock and kicked out with both feet, sending the tharuk backward over the mountainside.

  Marlies landed on her backside, her blood splattering the snow. She reached into her pouch and wrapped a strip of bandage around her arm. She had to go before more troops came. Retrieving her gear, and cradling her injured arm, Marlies stepped over the dead tharuk and started up the steep slope toward Devil’s Gate.

  Weathering the Storm

  Lovina’s nightmare kept them both up, talking quietly until dawn. Only then had she fallen into an exhausted sleep by the fire. Tomaaz dozed most of the day, half an ear open for intruders.

  When he woke, he checked the snare, not expecting to find much after checking a few times the day before, but they’d been in luck. The fat buck soon ended up in the pot.

  Tomaaz stirred the rabbit stew with a stick, then threw another handful of bear leek into the pot. His stomach grumbled, protesting at the wait. They’d exhausted the cache of dried food last night before they’d fallen asleep. He gave the stew another stir.

  “It’s a starry night. I think the storm has passed.” Lovina was at the cavern mouth, peeking out the side of the blanket.

  He nodded. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning.” There wouldn’t be any fresh snow to cover his tracks outside. To stay any longer would be dangerous.

  Lovina moved back toward the fire, wincing as she walked.

  “I’ll check your arm after we’ve eaten. How’s your head?” The gash had healed well, forming a clean scab.

  She shrugged her uninjured shoulder. “My head’s fine, but if we open the bandage on my arm, it’ll probably just get dirty. It’s not as if we have clean cloths, here, or cleansing herbs.”

  “Good point. We’ll check it as soon as we’re back at the cabin.”

  He didn’t dare mention his worst fears. Pa hadn’t found them, and neither had the dragons. Each time he’d gone out yesterday to check the snare, he’d scanned the skies. Once he’d seen a distant dragon, and jumped and waved, but it hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t dared call out. Another time he’d seen a flash in the sky, but it had only been an eagle. Was Pa alive? Were the dragons still here? Or did Pa think they were dead?

  And what about Ma, traversing the realm on her own?

  Tomorrow they’d strike out and try to find the cabin, although in this vast forest, it was like seeking a thimble on the ground in a crowded marketplace. And if they found the cabin, what would they be facing? Pa’s dead remains? A slew of slaughtered tharuks? Or Pa fighting beasts? He didn’t want to burden Lovina with his worries, but if they couldn’t find the cabin, what then? They’d be stuck, far from anywhere, stranded, without adequate weapons or food.

  One step at a time. First, they’d eat, then sleep. The morning might bring new possibilities.

  Lovina brought their mugs over. “I’ve searched for bowls in that chest, but this is all we have.”

  “They’ll do fine.” Tomaaz smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Unless you want to eat straight from the pot?”

  “Without spoons or forks?”

  He poured the thick stew. They held their mugs, blowing on the steaming contents.

  Lovina’s stomach growled.

  “Sounds like a bear, sniffing out the bear leek,” Tomaaz quipped.

  She grinned. “If you’d told me two weeks ago that I’d be sitting in a cave today, free of Bill, eating rabbit stew, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

  “You’re safe now,” he said.

  “Tomaaz,” she used his name again. With her accent, it sounded so exotic.

  “I know you must’ve traveled all over with Bill, but where are you from, originally?”

  Lovina ducked her head. “Monte Vista.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Northwest of the Flatlands, near the foot of the Terramites on the very edge of the Great Spanglewood Forest.”

  Tomaaz shrugged. “I’ve heard of the Flatlands, but—”

  Lovina laughed.

  It took his breath away. Musical and clear, he couldn’t remember any other sound giving him such a light carefree feeling in his chest. He grinned. “What?”

  “Lush Valley bumpkin!”

  His grin grew wider. “Yeah, I know, I’ve never been out of Lush Valley.”

  “You’re lucky. It’s must’ve been a beautiful place to grow up.” Her smile faded. “That’ll all change now that tharuks have breached the pass.”

  “We have to stop them.”

  She nodded. “Zens’ tharuks aren’t kind, even to the littlings.”

  She’d suffered so much. She had no idea how brave she was.

  After their meal, Tomaaz took down the blanket hanging above the fire and passed it to her. “It’s nice and warm, a little smoky, but it’ll be better than sleeping on the cold stone again.” Would she sleep tonight? Or would her nights always be plagued with the terror of remembering?

  She h
eld the wool to her cheek. “I can’t let you sleep on bare rock.”

  “Can’t be helped. If I take down the other one, someone might see our fire. Or the smoke.” With the entrance blocked, the smoke was funneling up through fissures in the cavern roof, getting lost in the mass of stone above them.

  Lovina stared at her feet, her voice breathy. “We could share. It might help my nightmares go away.” She looked up, her forget-me-nots pleading. “Please.” Her voice quivered, a whisper sliding inside him, melting his heart.

  An ache built in his chest. “Of course,” he whispered back, stroking a strand of hair from her face. “Of course we can share.”

  They nestled near the fire, Lovina on her left side facing the flames, and Tomaaz snuggled along her back with his arm over her, careful not to bump her injured arm.

  Sharing a blanket was a lot warmer than he’d anticipated.

  Lovina hummed the melody she’d been singing while drawing him yesterday.

  He propped himself up on one arm so he could see her properly. “Is that a Flatlander song?”

  “Yesterday, I remembered Ma singing me this song when I was a littling.” She rolled onto her back, smiling up at him. “I’m starting to remember things, Tomaaz.”

  Her hair gleamed in the firelight, all coppery hues, honey and burnished browns. Gods, she was beautiful. He lowered his head toward her, breathing in her warmth.

  Then they were kissing.

  §

  Tomaaz’s arms closed around Lovina, gentle with her injured arm, warm and reassuring. He’d come to mean so much to her, so fast.

  His kisses trailed across her cheek, to her nose, her eyelids. “Brave,” he murmured. “So brave and beautiful.”

  She’d never felt this. Never felt treasured. Never felt home.

  §

  In the wee hours, while the embers were still glowing, Lovina’s sobs woke Tomaaz. “It’s all right, Lovina, I’m here.” Cradling her back, he curled around her.

  Her cries subsided and she sighed in her sleep, her now-serene face lit by the glow of the embers.

  He held her gently, careful of her injuries. She was precious, fragile but resilient. Beautiful, strong and vulnerable. Her trust was sacred, treasure to him. He’d do his best to protect her.