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

by Eileen Mueller

  A vision washed through Ithsar.

  Hundreds of dragon riders wheeled in the air above a forest pockmarked with snow, their colored wings flashing like jewels in the wan winter sun as they fought shadowy, foul dragons with ragged wings and yellow beams slicing from their eyes. Riding the multi-hued queen, Ezaara, with Roberto on Erob at her side, led her dragons and people into battle. Bolts of fire shot through the sky at Ezaara and her dragon riders, the shadow dragons blotting out the horizon with their dark leathery wings. Below, a strange metal chest sat in a clearing with a brilliant beam of golden light streaming from it into the sky.

  Ithsar resisted seeing the rest of the familiar vision—the part where she joined Ezaara in battle. This vision was not to be. Ashewar had triumphed.

  With a flash of her hard ebony eyes, Ashewar said, “Awaken the beasts from the depths and stir them into a feeding frenzy.”

  §

  Roshni stood, her blazing sapphire eyes connecting with Ithsar’s. With a jolt, Ithsar realized Roshni’s eyes were blazing with anger—she’d only averted her gaze to hide her fury from Ashewar. Roshni threw the meat high in the air and whipped her saber from her belt. With two slashes, the meat fell onto the sand in four pieces. Blood dripped from Roshni’s ceremonial saber, but she did not clean it and sheathe it, as was custom. Instead, Roshni speared the hunks of meat upon the tip, bowed her knee, her eyes downcast once more, and offered them to Ashewar.

  The chief prophetess was so filled with glee that she didn’t appear to notice the lapse in custom.

  Ashewar plucked a piece of meat from the tip of the saber and threw it off the edge of the cliff. The harsh sunlight caught ruby drops of blood as the flesh arced through the air, then plummeted to the sea. Ithsar couldn’t tear her gaze from that tiny piece of goat. It hit the water. Dark fins sped through the sea, and the water foamed as sharks fought over the morsel.

  “More,” Ashewar spat. “Work them into bloodlust, ready for this traitor.”

  Izoldia plucked the next piece from Roshni’s saber and tossed it off the edge of the cliff, sliding a sly grin at Ithsar. “You’re next,” she muttered, malice glinting in her eyes.

  The sea became a churning mass of thrashing tails and fins as the sharks ripped the flesh from one another’s jaws, devouring it.

  Farther out, a dark shape rippled under the ocean’s turquoise surface. Longer than three camels, it cut through the water toward the frenzy of the fins and snapping jaws. Another dark shadow followed in its wake; and farther out, many more. Those giant, fanged monsters would rip her body to shreds, as Ashewar had promised.

  Bala hurled the third piece of meat. It flew from her bloody hands. An enormous shark rose from the ocean, its gray and white maw snapping down the meat.

  Ashewar flashed her teeth at Roshni. “You may throw the last piece.”

  Her saber still dripping blood, Roshni took the meat from the tip. She tossed the flesh high into the air, off the cliff. As Ashewar’s eyes tracked the chunk of goat, Roshni whirled, her saber flashing toward Ashewar’s heart.

  The chief prophetess deflected it. With a kick to the chest, she knocked Roshni off balance, then slammed into her with her shoulder. Roshni teetered on the edge of the cliff, saber flashing as it was flung from her hand, arcing, blade-over-hilt-blade-over-hilt in a spray of ruby droplets. Roshni’s body followed, her scream shredding Ithsar’s heart, her sapphire eyes stark with fear. Dark hair swirling around her face, her body hit the sea, and her scream was silenced in a spray of white.

  Sharks dived in. Within heartbeats, Roshni’s body was a churning froth of red.

  A scrap of her orange robe floated upon the ocean’s surface as sharks prowled, waiting for their next meal. Waiting for Ithsar.

  §

  Ithsar tried to swallow, but couldn’t. She gasped, but couldn’t draw air. Her chest felt as if it had been kicked, the life driven from her lungs. She clasped her hands to her breast.

  “See what happens to those who disobey me?” Ashewar crowed.

  Roshni’s only failing had been to show kindness. Despite the broken feeling in her chest, anger flickered inside Ithsar and spread like wildfire to her belly. How dare her mother end lives on a whim. Ashewar hated Ithsar, had always planned to kill her, disobedient or not. Ithsar refused to stand in the shadow of her mother. If she was going to die, she’d go down fighting.

  Ithsar spun, facing her mother. Behind Ashewar, the assassins were an impenetrable wall. Drida’s eyes were misty, her mouth gaping. The Naobian flute dangled from Misha’s fingers, her jaw slack. Nila, a lively assassin with black curls, stood beside Misha, eyes glinting with hatred. The rest of the assassins were stoic, immovable.

  “You killed Roshni.” Wildfire burned bright in Ithsar’s belly, spreading through her core.

  Ashewar held a hand out, examining the nails at the end of her long slender fingers. “Oh? So I did.” She snapped her hand shut.

  Ithsar spun, executing the tenth move of the Sathiri dance, kicking out at Ashewar.

  Ashewar ducked, and rolled away.

  Izoldia and Bala lunged. Grabbing Ithsar’s arms and torso, they kicked her knees out from under her, slamming her into the sand, and dragged her to the edge of the cliff. They thrust her upper body out over the edge. The wildfire guttered and died, leaving Ithsar’s belly hollow. There was nothing between her and the raging sea—nothing except Izoldia and Bala’s grip. She gasped, head spinning at the vertical plunge into that wild ocean writhing with sharks and the huge, dark shadows of terrifying sea monsters.

  “No, no, my beloved guards,” Ashewar drawled. “She’s mine.”

  Bala and Izoldia dragged Ithsar back to her feet and spun her to face Ashewar.

  With a feral grin on her haughty face, Ashewar whipped her saber from its sheath.

  §

  As Bala and Izoldia backed off, Ithsar balanced on the balls of her feet, ready. Like a deadly rust viper, Ashewar struck, saber flashing. Ithsar whirled, but the saber caught her robes. A scrap of orange fabric fluttered free, and was caught by the wind and tossed out over the sea.

  Ithsar’s limbs trembled, not from fear this time, but from rage. The trembling grew until her whole body shook. Her fury pooled in her gut and burned along her veins. She thrust her hand into her robes and yanked out the hidden dagger from her breeches. Ashewar’s eyes widened. She slashed again. Ithsar blocked, the reverberation clanging through her blade and running down her forearms into her elbows. Ashewar spun and kicked Ithsar’s ribs, then followed through with a lunging swing of her gleaming saber.

  The blade whispered past Ithsar’s head as she rolled to the side and leaped to her feet, sand crumbling beneath her and cascading down the cliff. She rushed forward as Ashewar struck again, her saber slicing a rent in Ithsar’s flowing breeches. Her mother’s face was mottled with fury, her cunning eyes slitted as she swiped her wicked blade at Ithsar’s legs. Ithsar leaped over the blade and kicked her mother’s jaw. Ashewar grunted as her head snapped back, but recovered her footing and slashed at Ithsar again, going straight for her belly.

  No! Not Thika! Ithsar shrieked the ancient Sathiri battle cry, “Avanta!”

  Her robes ripped and Thika leaped out, landing on Ashewar’s face. His claws scrabbled bloody gouges in Ashewar’s cheeks. Ithsar leaped, slashing at Ashewar’s ribs.

  But Ashewar grabbed Thika by the tail and held the squirming lizard up, the tip of her saber at his belly. “Move a hand’s breadth and I’ll spill this despicable creature’s guts.”

  Ithsar froze.

  “See, love is a weakness,” Ashewar sneered. “Something to be used against you. A weakness I do not tolerate.”

  Ithsar’s heart pounded like a herd of stampeding camels. Ashewar was determined to destroy everything that meant anything to her. Everything precious. Just as she’d killed her father. Rage blazed through Ithsar. A purple bruise of sathir built at her fingertips. A dark bruise blossomed on the ground beneath her feet, and the earth shook, tremors ru
nning up her legs and through her body. She knew she was causing the quake, but she didn’t care. White-hot fury surged through Ithsar’s veins. A flurry of sand swirled around her feet, whipping into a dust storm around Ashewar, Thika, and Ithsar.

  Ashewar dropped Thika. He scrambled up Ithsar’s leg, clinging to her robes.

  She slashed her dagger at her mother. Ashewar deflected her knife and barreled into Ithsar. The sathir bruise blackened and the sand shifted. The edge of the ledge crumbled, and, in a thrashing pile of limbs, Ashewar, and then Ithsar, fell from the cliff, plunging toward the sea.

  Into the Depths

  Wind tugged at Ithsar’s tattered robe as she plummeted through the air, Thika’s tail wrapped tightly around her wrist. By the dracha gods, what had she done? Ithsar’s rage had cleaved the edge off the cliff. She, Ashewar, and Thika would die—and it was all her fault. Ashewar flailed, her saber flying from her grasp and the beads on her braids clacking. The roar of the waves grew louder, water pounding against the sandstone cliff and drenching them in spray. The sea was swarming with sharks and dark ominous shadows.

  Ashewar’s body hit the water first.

  Ithsar smacked into the ocean, plunging beneath the surface, the impact of the water driving the air from her lungs. She flailed and kicked up, holding her hand over Thika’s nose so he wouldn’t ingest any water. She burst through the surface, gasping, holding Thika aloft. An enormous, wicked fin arrowed toward her.

  Treading water, Ithsar spun, but there were more sharks behind her, closing in fast. Beyond them, the giant, green-scaled tail of a sea monster whipped above the water, sending a spray over the sharks. Thika climbed upon her head. Spluttering, Ithsar swam in the only direction she could—toward the sheer cliff. She couldn’t scale it, but Thika was nimble, good at climbing. If she could toss him onto the cliff face, maybe one of them would survive.

  She glanced back. That shark was getting close. In a few heartbeats, it would be here.

  Ashewar burst out of the water behind her, Thika’s scratches on her cheeks still bleeding.

  Ithsar screamed, “Look out!”

  But it was too late. The shark lunged and opened its cavernous jaws. White fangs gleaming, it crunched down on Ashewar’s body. Her blood leaked from the shark’s maw. It shook her broken body like a dog worrying a big, bloody bone. Fins sliced the water and sharks dived at Ashewar, tearing off her limbs and severing her head. The sleek creatures ripped her apart in a feeding frenzy, snapping her bones and thrashing their tails.

  Ithsar turned away, unable to unsee the carnage and clothing scraps—the only remains of her mother. Giant shadows of sea monsters roamed the depths below Ithsar. Gods, she had to flee. She shoved Thika’s tail off her face, his claws digging into her scalp as she frantically kicked toward the cliffs. Her arms were tired. Her sodden robes dragged her down. For every few body lengths she swam, the strong ocean currents sucked her back a length or two toward the enormous sea monsters.

  Something nudged her stomach. Ithsar glanced down, wanting to scream.

  A shark butted her again, then dived and angled back up toward her. This time, it nudged her thigh. It was playing with her, toying, before it closed in for its meal. Her breath rasped as she kicked and thrashed. There was no way to get Thika to the cliff now, the current was too strong. The shark, too close. Should she lie limp on the water’s surface, pretending to be a piece of driftwood, and hope the shark would leave her alone?

  No, it was hopeless.

  Heart hammering and gasping so hard she could hardly breathe, Ithsar plucked Thika from her head and held him aloft while she trod water. A wave crested, swamping them, but she kept her legs moving and held her precious friend as high as she could. Waiting.

  Far above her, assassins in orange robes peered over the lip of the cliff. Their cries drifted on the wind, drowned out by the thundering waves smacking the sandstone. One of them gestured, pointing. Ithsar turned as a wave broke over her. She gulped in mouthfuls of salt water, throat burning, and stretched her arm up again to keep Thika aloft. His tail was curled so tightly around her forearm that her hand was going numb.

  The shark’s blunt nose rose out of the water, the pale underside of its jaw gleaming. It turned, its curved fin speeding away, but then circled around and raced toward her. Ithsar strained, churning her legs and stretching to keep Thika high, but it was no use. This was it.

  Sobs broke from her chest. “I’m sorry, Thika. Sorry, Papa. I just wasn’t strong enough.” Her visions had been for nothing—she would never see Ezaara again.

  The enormous fin neared.

  A huge shadow rippled underwater.

  The shark surged up from the sea, opened its maw and leaped, its jaws angled to crunch through her forearm and snap up Thika.

  A giant green-scaled head speared out of the churning ocean and opened a gaping maw, revealing the dark cavern of its throat. Water streamed from pointed fangs as long as Ithsar’s forearm. Its fiery gold eyes locked onto hers as it dived through the air, spraying brine. Those enormous jaws engulfed the shark, crunching its body in half. The monster flicked its head, and the shark’s remains went flying and splashed into the sea.

  Then the sea monster opened its jaws again. Grasping Ithsar in its fangs, it dragged her under the water.

  Izoldia’s Decree

  Ashewar’s saber flashed and her arms flailed. A purple bruise stained the sky and sand grains whipped through the air. Izoldia squinted and pulled her headscarf over her mouth. There was no need to intervene. This would soon be over. Besides, if Ashewar died at the hand of that runt, Izoldia would easily finish the girl off afterward. And if that scrawny thing died?

  As head guard, Izoldia would be heiress to the chief prophetess—and then only Ashewar would stand in her way.

  The dune shook. Izoldia gaped as a chunk of the cliff broke off. In a flurry of sand and scrabbling limbs, the chief prophetess and her daughter tumbled off the cliff.

  Izoldia rushed to the edge and peered over. Her sister assassins surged forward to join her, head scarves whipping in that strange wind. Suddenly, the wind died and the purple stain vanished.

  Ashewar hit the water first and disappeared. Ithsar’s turn came a moment later. The sea turned into a choppy frenzy of snapping jaws. When Ashewar burst to the surface, the sharks made short work of her, turning the sea frothy red.

  That deformed fool was down there, struggling in the sea, but the enormous fanged monsters were heading toward her, their tails lashing the water.

  Nila and Misha called out, trying to warn her. Izoldia glared at them, but they were too busy yelling and pointing to notice. She dragged her gaze back to the ocean below. A giant green head and shoulders rose from the surging surf. Its jaws wrapped around Ithsar’s pathetic, weedy body and dragged her under the surface. Izoldia’s heart thrummed. She waited, licking her lips, but the monster didn’t resurface.

  The day couldn’t have turned out better.

  Snatching her saber from her hip, Izoldia thrust it high into the air. “Ashewar is dead. The chief prophetess is no more. And her traitorous heir has been swallowed by the mighty beasts that patrol the depths of the Naobian Sea.” She spun, grinning, still holding her saber high.

  The women fell into line, staring at her, stone-faced.

  “I, as Ashewar’s most loyal guard, will take her place. I now anoint myself Chief Prophetess.” Izoldia smirked.

  Not a brow rippled.

  Drida, that wrinkled old crone with ugly gray hair, stepped forward, eyes blazing. “A chief prophetess is not self-declared,” she croaked. “The dracha gods anoint the new chief prophetess, one with gifts. Stand down, Izoldia, or we will—”

  Izoldia flicked her wrist, throwing the blade hidden up her sleeve. Her dagger hit the woman’s throat before she finished speaking. A spray of red drenched the nearby assassins and the woman collapsed in a puff of orange sand.

  “Any more objections?” Izoldia surveyed them all.

  Among the women a
rrayed before her on the hot desert sand, not a single muscle twitched. They each met her gaze with hard eyes.

  She gestured to Bala and Thut. “As the chief prophetess’ elite guard, these two women will help me enforce new rules among the Robandi assassins. For too long, the chief prophetess has only let us glean lousy pickings from the desert, but there’s fine hunting to be had among these dunes. We shall now take the lion’s share, and spill the blood of the male vermin that dare inhabit the Robandi Desert sands. Their spoils shall be ours.”

  Izoldia twitched her saber at the dead woman whose blood was seeping into the hot desert sand, her glassy eyes staring skyward. “You two.” She gestured at Misha, a young, skinny assassin, and Nila, who was a wild, wicked fighter. “Toss this carrion to the sharks and join us. We’ll ride out now, and make men quake and scream with terror.”

  §

  The sun beat down mercilessly. Sweat prickled Misha’s forehead and slithered between her shoulder blades, snaking its way down her back. She traipsed over to Drida and Nila. The other assassins were following Izoldia down to the camels, their nimble feet making short work of the steep dune.

  Wiping a black curl from her face, Nila leaned over Drida’s body and pulled Izoldia’s dagger from her neck.

  Misha winced, trying to hide her horror at the wet sucking sound. At Drida’s beautiful, silver hair now splattered in gore. And the gaping wound in her neck.

  After examining and cleaning the blade, Nila gave a sly grin and pocketed it deep within her robes. She shrugged and wrinkled her nose at Izoldia’s hulking back as she led the assassins away.

  So, Nila wasn’t a fan of Izoldia either. That was handy to know. They might as well get this unpleasant job over and done with. Misha bent her knees and slid her hands under Drida’s shoulders. There was nothing for it. Even though Drida had held the admiration and respect of all of her sister assassins, she was better off with the sharks than the vultures circling overhead. Anything but vultures. Misha shuddered at memories of her father and brothers’ bodies strewn across the sands. They said vultures picked out the eyes first—that eyes were a delicacy for those foul birds. At least those sharks would finish Drida’s remains quickly.