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

by Eileen Mueller

  That runty girl reached up, placing her hand inside the beast’s maw to pluck out a piece of seaweed.

  By the holy dracha gods. Izoldia gulped, fear skittering through her bones. Her hands shook.

  The sea dragon snapped its jaw shut, its yellow eyes forming mean slits as it lowered its head toward Izoldia, nostrils flaring.

  Ithsar, unbearably close to that glorious, powerful beast, said, “It’s your turn, Izoldia. Lay your hand upon Saritha’s brow.”

  Saritha? Izoldia nearly snorted, but refrained. Terror was a better name for this creature. Or Fang. When she killed Ithsar and imprinted with this monster, she would rename it. But for now, she would bide her time and plan. Until that opportunity arose.

  A skinny assassin cut her bonds so she could touch the beast. Izoldia forced a charming smile, stretched her hand forth and placed it on the monster’s snout.

  And as the monster showed her a vision of the future—of a queen and her dragons waiting in the Naobian deeps for new riders, and then waging warfare in the sky—Izoldia formulated a plan. A plan that would see her triumph over that scrawny runt.

  A New Challenge

  Once all the women had been shown visions of their future, including Izoldia, Thut, and Bala, Ithsar stood before them as they waited in formation in the shade, protected from the hot desert sun. “If we are to imprint with sea dragons and help our sisters in the North, we must learn new skills. Who is prepared for this glory?”

  Everyone thumped their fists on their hearts, although Ithsar caught Thut giving Bala and Izoldia a sly glance.

  “Very clever, my friend,” Saritha mind-melded. “You have convinced everyone to follow us.”

  “There are still those who will betray me,” Ithsar replied.

  Saritha rumbled, “And I have my eye on them.”

  “It has been a trying morning. Later, we’ll learn new skills for battle on dragonback. But now, we shall eat. Please fetch food from the mess cavern and bring it up here into the shade of the palms.”

  Murmurs broke out. “But we always eat inside in the heat of the day.”

  “We usually do, but today is different. We’re keeping many of our traditions, but will also usher in a few new ones. And today, we are celebrating.” She motioned to six women, who scurried below ground, and then she asked four others to pick dates and oranges.

  The assassins settled in the shade of the date palms while some fetched fresh water from the lake. Soon, women carried large cauldrons of warm goat stew and couscous and rounds of flatbread out under the palms.

  Ithsar gaped. So much food. What was going on?

  Misha sidled over. “There was a feast prepared for, ah… for your demise.”

  Ithsar’s gut hollowed. Speechless, she stared at Misha.

  Misha smiled. “I would’ve choked on every mouthful,” she whispered, and sauntered off to help serve the food.

  §

  After the feast, Izoldia, Bala, and Thut were taken to the dungeons. Thut protested every step of the way, saying all she’d ever done was obey the commands given by Izoldia, and insisting that the sign of a good assassin was obeying those in command. Bala muttered under her breath.

  From late that afternoon until the sun slipped in a blazing red ball toward the distant dunes, Saritha and Ithsar trained the women in dragonback archery. One at a time, Saritha took the assassins into the sky. All experienced at archery on camelback, they had to adjust their angles and perspective as they shot at the targets they’d set around the perimeter of the oasis. Most of them missed the first time, and many the second, but slowly, they learned to compensate for the breeze of the dragon’s wingbeats and adjust the trajectory of their arrows.

  “Leave the other three in the dungeons. I refuse to carry Bala, Izoldia, or Thut, until they have a change of heart,” Saritha growled. “Their malice for you is like a dark canker rotting them from the inside out.”

  “I know.” Ithsar sighed. “You’re doing a fine job, but it’s frustratingly slow with only one dragon.”

  “If we put up more targets, I could carry two women and they could fire arrows at targets on either side of me, so we could train them doubly fast.”

  “But not as fast as if they had their own sea dragons. We must get them battle-ready or they’ll be slaughtered.”

  “It’s too early to ask them to imprint. They need more time to trust us. We can’t build a new reign in a day.”

  “You’re a wise dragon.” Ithsar scratched Saritha’s eye ridges, and the sea dragon leaned into her touch.

  “You know, I wouldn’t mind that swim we spoke of,” Saritha said, eying the lake as the assassins trooped down into the entrance tunnel. “My scales are dry and itchy. I’m not used to being out of the water so long.”

  They waited until the last of the assassins had departed, and flew to the far end of the lake where they wouldn’t be disturbed. As the setting sun turned the lake fiery orange, Saritha dipped beneath the surface, her bubble of sathir encompassing Ithsar.

  Ithsar breathed deeply, letting her aching muscles relax as Saritha swam through liquid gold.

  §

  Ithsar sat on the grotesque throne carved from the bones of her mother’s enemies, the tortured faces of dying men glaring up at her from the armrests. She gingerly placed her hands in her lap, unwilling to have her body touch more of the seat than was necessary. She wouldn’t have used it, but Izoldia, Bala, and Thut had requested the right to speak and, bound by tradition, Ithsar was required to hear them. This was the only seat that would bring her remotely near Izoldia’s eye level.

  All the assassins were present, arrayed at the far end of the chamber near the back wall.

  The doors opened and her guards Nila and Misha, flanked by four others, marched the prisoners into the throne chamber. Bala and Thut’s eyes glittered.

  Izoldia did nothing to mute her footsteps upon the cool tiles, her boots ringing throughout the cavern like jeers echoing off the walls. She also made no effort to disguise her labored breathing. The guards led Izoldia and her cronies toward the throne. When they were half a camel length away, Ithsar flicked her finger, motioning them to stop. Standing in front of the throne, Izoldia dwarfed Ithsar—the way she’d dwarfed and demeaned Ithsar’s entire life. Her broad shoulders were wider than the throne, her bulky body towering over Ithsar. Her eyes lowered, she stared at her feet.

  Bala and Thut stood motionless behind her.

  Ithsar motioned to the guards to fall back—but not too far, in case Izoldia decided to attack. Her heart thrumming in a frenzied tattoo against her ribs, Ithsar said coolly, “You may speak.”

  Izoldia kept her gaze downcast. “I beg your forgiveness, my Chief Prophetess.”

  Should Ithsar trust her? The years of taunting, insults, and pain coiled into a hard ball inside Ithsar’s stomach. As Chief Prophetess, she had been preaching benevolence to her people. The gathered guards’ gazes settled upon her. Unless she led by example and showed that benevolence now, none of them would respect her and do what she required in order for them to imprint with the sea dragons and help Ezaara—she of golden hair and vivid green eyes—from the North.

  Ithsar drew a long, slow breath of cool subterranean air in through her nostrils. “You require my forgiveness. What will you give in return?”

  Guards shuffled, eyes shifting. Bala and Thut glanced at each other, something passing between them. What was Izoldia planning?

  Izoldia fell to her knees and bowed before Ithsar, her tied hands outstretched and her forehead kissing the tiles. “I pledge my undying loyalty.”

  Better than Ithsar had hoped for, but it had to be a trick. Izoldia was up to something. Although she wanted nothing more than to throw her dagger into this scheming sycophant’s back, Ithsar forced her fingers to be still. She’d pledged to show everyone love and kindness, including this woman. Perhaps Izoldia had had a change of heart.

  Fraught with risk, there was only one way to test her. Very well. “Please stand.”r />
  Izoldia rose, her face expressionless. Without her sneer, curled lip, or a glint of malice in her eyes, she looked completely different. Her face was quite pleasant. It was a shame hatred and twisted emotions had driven her to bullying.

  “So you will pledge your undying obedience to me, your new revered chief prophetess?”

  Without hesitation, Izoldia thumped a hand on her breast and nodded. “Yes, Chief Prophetess. I promise to obey you.”

  Ithsar’s eyes roamed the chamber. At the back of the room, Bala was smirking. Not a good sign. “Very well,” Ithsar replied. “Unbind her hands. You may live among us, but at the first sign of discontent, you will be cast out into the desert.”

  Izoldia closed her eyes and nodded. “I understand. As you wish, my revered Chief Prophetess.”

  “Bala and Thut?” Ithsar asked.

  “We also pledge to obey you,” Bala said.

  “Yes, we do,” Thut added.

  It was all too easy. Misha and Nila’s expressions were grim as they cut the ropes around the prisoners’ hands.

  Izoldia remained contrite as guards on either side led her out of the cavern. At the door, they all turned to salute Ithsar, the thud of their hands against their chests echoing in the chamber. Izoldia’s eyes flashed. Bala and Thut smirked, falling in behind her.

  Something cold slithered through Ithsar’s belly. She swallowed. She was not Ashewar; would never be Ashewar. Perhaps her compassion would be her downfall. But she did not want to rule like her mother. She had meant what she’d said, and wanted a new reign—a reign of fairness and justice.

  Everyone filed out, leaving Ithsar sitting upon her throne in an empty chamber, her belly hollow, wondering if Izoldia would murder her in her sleep.

  Raven Calls

  Ithsar sighed and held her hand outside the bubble of sathir, trailing her fingers through the deep blue lake, making a silvery trail of water as Saritha swam. The sun was rising, dawn giving the water a pale pink tinge. It was beautiful, but still wasn’t as glorious as the Naobian Sea. Here, there were no coral, just endless sand and weeds and a few species of fish: tiny silver ones; some with yellow stripes and brown tails that blended against the sand; and other larger predators with jagged teeth that snapped up the small fish whenever they got too close. Still, it meant Saritha could swim—even if it was only before dawn or after dusk when their training didn’t demand the sea dragon fly in shifts with the assassins.

  Training had been progressing well over the last moon and a half, so well that the only time Ithsar had on her own with Saritha was during these early morning or late night swims. She cherished this time when they could relax, laugh, and be themselves. Most of the assassins had long since mastered dragonback archery and were now learning flight maneuvers and the best techniques for throwing knives from dragonback. Their usual training continued—the Sathiri battle dance, saber fights, and hand-to-hand combat, keeping Ithsar busy from dawn until dusk.

  Despite one attempted poisoning that had never been proven, Izoldia, Bala, and Thut had been model students, acting with humility and learning the ropes as fast as anyone else. Occasionally, Ithsar caught a malicious glint in Izoldia’s eyes or thought she’d glimpsed a curl of her lip, but it had always been so fleeting, she’d never been sure if she’d imagined it.

  “Have you had enough? I wouldn’t mind hunting fish,” Saritha asked.

  “Set me ashore and I’ll rest while you fish.” Ithsar yawned. She’d been tossing and turning half the night, wondering whether the assassins would be called upon to fight the dark dragons she’d seen in her visions. And how in the name of the flaming sun she’d convince the women to throw themselves into the Naobian Sea to meet their dragons. Yes, she’d omitted that tiny detail when she’d spoken to them about imprinting. She hadn’t dared let Saritha know.

  The sea dragon held out her foreleg, creating a bridge between her shoulder and the shore of the oasis. Ithsar slid down her limb, but Saritha yanked it away at the last moment, and she tumbled into knee-deep water.

  Laughing, Ithsar scrambled to her feet and splashed Saritha. “You really are a sea monster.”

  “Ah, yes, I was a wild beast until you tamed me.”

  Ithsar slugged her dragon’s dripping, scaly arm, and Saritha pretended to slash with her talons, splashing Ithsar back.

  The pink tinge of dawn peeked over the tangerine sands. Drips running down her face, and saturated below the knee, Ithsar said, “I’m going to dry off while you hunt.”

  “Did you know there are mages in the North that can dry you with the touch of their hands?” Saritha winked at her and dived back under the surface of the lake.

  Queen Aquaria had mentioned the dragon mage. Did he possess such wondrous powers?

  For a moment, the silver sheen on Saritha’s scales glistened pink in the dawn’s rays, making Ithsar’s chest swell, and then the dragon submerged, her tail sending one last splash across the water. Fighting was all well and good, but these were the moments she lived for.

  A trail of bubbles rose to the surface, the only sign that a terrible sea monster now inhabited the lake. Ithsar gave a chuckle and laid down on the sand. It was still cool, but wouldn’t be for long. Within moments, she dozed off, waiting for the sun to rise and dry her clothes.

  §

  Ithsar woke to a dark speck on the horizon. Her robes were nearly dry, but she lay there, watching the speck grow as it drew closer to the oasis. It was a bird, a raven, drooping with exhaustion. It fluttered its wings and dived, collapsing in the sand at Ithsar’s feet with a wing outstretched and its sides heaving.

  Ithsar scooped the raven up and took it to the lake. The bird trembled in her hands, its soft feathers tickling her palms. She knelt and held it near the water. The raven bent its head, eagerly scooping up water with its beak. She stroked the soft feathers between its wings at the base of its neck. “Easy now,” she crooned. “Your belly will burst if you’re not careful.”

  The raven squirmed, and something scraped against her arm. She examined the bird and found a small tube attached to its right leg—a messenger bird, then. Here in the desert? Not unheard of, but extremely unusual. This bird must’ve come from Dragons’ Realm beyond the Naobian Sea. She cradled the tired raven in her hands, strolled back to sit under the shade of a date palm, and popped the bird in her lap. Using her dagger, she gently cut the twine that bound the tube. She uncorked the end and tapped the tube on her palm. A small scroll of parchment fell out.

  Ithsar unrolled it.

  My dearest friend Ithsar,

  I trust that this message finds you well. I write in the hope that you are able to come to our aid.

  A scourge has risen upon the lands of Dragons’ Realm. Commander Zens has created foul shadow dragons—dark beasts who are destroying towns and villages, enslaving our people, and killing our dragons, riders, and mages. As well as dragon flame, beams of golden light from their eyes slice the flesh of dragon and rider. Using his dark methods, Zens has also grown strange mages who ride these beasts, searing our dragons, riders, and mages with wizard flame.

  I am calling upon all my friends in the far reaches of the realm and beyond to come to our aid. Without help, I fear the destruction of the entire realm. Our people are dying by the thousands. These beasts are clogging the skies. If there is any way you can entreat your mother and the Robandi assassins to come to our aid, I would deeply appreciate it. And if this brief letter falls into the hands of someone other than Ithsar, I plead that you will come to the aid of Dragons’ Realm and help save our people from extinction.

  Ezaara, Queen’s Rider

  Of Zaarusha, the honored Dragon Queen of Dragons’ Realm.

  Ithsar’s hands shook as she rolled the scrap of paper and tucked it into the folds of her robe, sliding it against her skin. “Oh, Saritha, Ezaara has requested our help.”

  This was it—the visions she’d seen were coming true. Ezaara needed them. There was no time to waste. She set the bird onto the grass under
a palm.

  Oh gods, how was she—the deformed, useless daughter of a cutthroat assassin—going to do this?

  Saritha rose from the lake, dripping, and landed nearby, shaking droplets over the sand. “This is the moment we’ve been training for. We must go to their aid. My cousins in the North need us. Go, and gather your sisters.”

  Ithsar swallowed. “But, I’m just a lowly—”

  Saritha cut her off. “Ithsar, shake off the shackles of your birth and rise to the occasion. Dragons’ Realm needs you.”

  Swallowing, Ithsar nodded and rushed toward the tunnel to the subterranean caverns.

  §

  As Ithsar ran through the tunnels, Saritha melded with her. “Prepare the women for imprinting. If you tell them what’s required of them, they’ll rise to the occasion. It’s an honor to ride a sea dragon, and now that they’ve grown used to being with me, they’re bound to imprint when they leap from the cliff.”

  Saritha didn’t understand. These fearless women did not like the sea or the monsters that lurked in its depths. Asking them to submit themselves willingly would be the ultimate test of Ithsar’s grip on them. Asking them too soon would ruin everything. She’d wait until they had no choice. Ithsar reached the cavern and waited at the front, pounding feet rushing along the tunnels and echoing through the training chamber.

  As her assassins assembled in front of her, she was too aware that she only reached the shoulders of the tallest. The women stood, hands out, poised on the balls of their feet—battle-ready. Ithsar waved a hand toward the floor. As one, the women sat.

  She let her eyes travel over them, meeting everyone’s gazes. Izoldia, Bala, and Thut were near the back of the cavern. Their eyes slid away—not a promising sign.

  Ithsar dived right in. “A messenger bird arrived today. The vision that Saritha showed you is coming to pass. Even as we train here in the desert, isolated by the broad Naobian Sea, hundreds of people are dying in Dragons’ Realm, slaughtered by evil dragons, their carcasses left to rot across the land. Ezaara—she of the golden hair, and the Queen’s Rider of Dragons’ Realm—has asked for our aid. I have pledged to help her. And you have pledged to obey me. So prepare your camels, pack clothes, weapons, food, and waterskins for an extended trip. We’ll ride out in an hour, so you may imprint with the waiting sea dragons.”