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

by Eileen Mueller

  “It didn’t take much,” Ithsar said as they wandered back to their dragons. “You were already doing a lot right.”

  Dragons stirred, and the assassins and riders roused themselves from sleep. After a hurried breakfast of bread and fruit, Ithsar and Stefan were repacking their saddlebags as a green dragon landed. A rider staggered from the saddle, his movements sluggish with weariness, and asked after Goren.

  After a few hurried words, Goren waved Ithsar over.

  The recently-arrived rider nodded. “I have news, Chief Prophetess. The fighting finished in Lush Valley some time ago, but we’ve spent the last few days patrolling the valley, woods and mountainsides, hunting down tharuks and stray shadow dragons.”

  Ithsar recounted the vision she’d seen of Ezaara and Roberto fighting in midair until the dragon queen had snatched them in her talons. “Do you have any idea what happened, or is this yet to come?”

  The guard nodded gravely. “The folk of Lush Valley said that the enemy turned Ezaara, but that Roberto narrowly prevented her from shooting at her own mother.”

  “How is that possible? Is she all right now?”

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry, I don’t know any details. Just that there’s still fighting in the North.” He turned back to Goren to discuss other business.

  Goren gave Ithsar a nod. “Please, get your riders ready. We’ve a long day’s travel ahead. Make sure your women wear the thick cloaks we gave them or they’ll freeze further north.”

  “Thank you.” Ithsar went straight back to Saritha, who relayed the message to everyone’s sea dragons.

  Dracha gods, an enemy that could change a leader’s loyalty? She tucked Thika inside her robes to keep him warm, and glanced about at her assassins and Stefan nearby, packing their saddlebags, donning their cloaks and readying for their journey.

  She hoped she would never turn on her own friends and sisters.

  §

  Later that day, they flew over a village. As their shadows fell over the buildings, villagers ran inside, shrieking.

  A littling pointed at the sky. “Look.”

  A man yelled, “They’re not shadow dragons, they’re green guards.”

  “Hundreds of them,” the littling yelled as her mother herded her inside.

  Saritha snorted. “Hmpff. I never thought I’d be mistaken for a common green guard.”

  Ithsar patted her scales. But she couldn’t help shudder at the fear the villagers had shown.

  Kisha

  A large tharuk with a jagged scar down its furry face slammed its tankard on the bar. Saliva dripped down its tusks and its fetid breath washed over Kisha. “Another beer,” Scar Face snarled. The tharuk lashed out with its claws, the tattooed 562 flashing on the bald inside of its wrist, and knocked the wooden tankard over, spilling the dregs.

  “Just one moment, sir.” She took a fresh cloth and wiped the ale off the counter. These brutes seemed to think that their free beer grew on trees; that she could pluck another barrel out of nowhere. With patrons too afraid to enter the tavern after the last brawl with tharuks, she had no income. And the beer was fast running out.

  Her grandmother, Anakisha—may she forever fly in peace with departed dragons—would cringe in her grave if she knew tharuks now frequented the Lost King Inn, the oldest inn in Last Stop. Although that hadn’t been the name of the inn when her grandmother had been alive. For the thousandth time, Kisha wondered exactly what had happened to Anakisha and Yanir—the ex-Queen’s Rider and her consort—and their dragons, when they’d died in battle.

  She turned the tap on the barrel and held 562’s tankard under it, filling it with the rich golden beer topped with pale foam. This was the last barrel. There’d be mayhem when it was finished and the tharuks learned their precious supply had run out.

  A tankard smacked against the other end of the wooden counter and another tharuk snarled as its beer dribbled over the wood.

  Cloth in hand, Kisha rushed over to mop the ale up, habitually recalling happy childhood memories to make the soul-destroying job of serving her enemies bearable.

  Her favorite was the day she’d discovered she had the gift of prophecy after seeing her dead grandmother in a dream:

  Only six years old, she nestled against her mother’s lap. Her mother’s warm arms enfolded her as she rocked Kisha in front of the fire. “Why couldn’t you sleep, my precious blossom?”

  “Mama, I saw a lady in my dream. She was wispy, made of clouds, and she had my eyes and the warmest smile I’ve ever seen.”

  Ma shot her a sharp look, and then smiled. “Warmer than mine?” she teased, but she’d soon grown serious, asking questions about how the woman looked and what she’d said to Kisha in her dream.

  And then Ma had told her something Kisha had never forgotten. “Your grandmother was Anakisha, the last Queen’s Rider. She rode upon Queen Zaarusha, the mighty dragon who rules over Dragons’ Realm. When Anakisha died, Zaarusha mourned for years and refused to take a new rider.” Her mother stroked Kisha’s hair from her forehead and kissed her brow. “Your grandmother gave me this, and told me one day you’d be old enough to wear it.” She unfastened a fine silver chain from around her neck. At the end of the chain, a pretty jade ring winked in the firelight. “Your grandmother’s ring opens a world gate and will take you and a dragon anywhere in Dragons’ Realm. To use it, put the ring on, rub it, and say your name, ‘Kisha’. Repeat that now.”

  “Put the ring on, rub it, and say ‘Kisha’. That’s easy, Mama, because that’s my name.”

  “Yes, we named you after her.” As her mother fastened the chain around her neck, Kisha had felt the solid weight of that ring, warm and comforting, against her skin.

  Absently, she mopped more beer off the counter and shot a glance at the nearest tharuk. It seemed thirsty. She poured another ale and put the tankard on the bench in front of the beast, keeping her gaze averted. It was a mind-bender. She felt its black eyes probing her as it tried to take over her mind. She slammed a wall around her thoughts.

  Her mother had made her practice shielding her thoughts from mind-benders every night before bed—long, boring practices when she’d wished she was outside scampering down the alleys with her friends.

  Her tavern, the Lost King, had been named after Yanir, Anakisha’s husband and Kisha’s grandfather. Her parents had set the tavern up as a place for dragon riders to stay during their arduous journeys across the realm. Now that tharuks frequented the bar, the only dragon rider who’d visited of late was the master healer at Dragons’ Hold, Marlies, who’d helped her break up a tharuk brawl two weeks ago. She’d first met Marlies two moons ago when Kisha had given her the—

  The door slammed open, jolting Kisha from her reverie. Two more furry beasts entered, their boots thudding dully on her once-finely-polished wooden floors, now marred with mud and gouges. She didn’t dare close the inn, or these monsters would probably trash the place. Not that she cared anymore. Things were about to change—not because she had a choice, but because she’d run out of options. She squeezed out the cloth and dunked it into a pail of fresh water.

  Kisha forced a polite smile, filled a few more tankards and sat them on the counter. That was the last of the beer. If she didn’t get out of here, she’d be ripped to shreds. “I’ll get some more food for you, kind sirs.”

  She stepped into the kitchen and closed the door to the bar. For a moment, she leaned against the door and took a deep breath, then she leaped into action. Kisha took neatly-sliced bacon from the meat safe and threw it, with some eggs, onto the giant skillet on the hearth. She hacked chunks of bread onto an enormous tray, not bothering to arrange everything nicely or garnish it. When the eggs were sputtering and the bacon was sizzling, she slammed the eggs into two giant serving bowls, and the bacon into another. Hopefully this would keep the beasts occupied. But not yet.

  First, Kisha had to take care of herself. She’d learned that much tending the bar. She shoveled a few forkfuls of egg into her mouth, straight fr
om the tharuks’ bowl—not that it would bother those heinous monsters—and scoffed a rasher of bacon as she dashed around the kitchen. This would be her last hot meal for a while.

  Kisha put a waterskin, a sack of dried apples, the last loaf of bread, and a hastily-made sandwich of hot bacon and egg into a rucksack and left it near the back door. As she turned back to the kitchen, the large carving knife caught her eye, so she shoved that into her waistband and stowed an assortment of smaller knives into her rucksack. After a last sweeping glance around the kitchen, Kisha slipped back into the dining room. Stalking between the drinking beasts, she placed the bowls of eggs and bacon, and the tray of bread, onto a long table in the center of the dining area. “Enjoy your meal.” she smiled sweetly. As if that would happen.

  Tharuks turned from their beer and rushed the table. As the beasts fell on the food, Scar Face snarled, “I eat first. I biggest.” The huge monster raked its claws across the head of another tharuk.

  The beast fell to its knees, black blood spurting from its cheek and dribbling over its fur.

  Another tharuk growled, “I hungry too.” Head down, it charged Scar Face and impaled the monster’s belly on its tusk.

  Scar Face roared and slashed with its claws, but the other tharuk kept running, driving Scar Face against a nearby table. The table flipped, crashed into a wall, and splintered. Shards of wood flew, the bloody beasts brawling amid the debris.

  More tharuks jumped in, kicking, slashing, and biting. Blood sprayed across the table and tufts of fur rained over the food. Smaller beasts slunk over to the feast, stuffing their jaws with bloodied eggs, bacon, and bread as the others fought.

  Unnoticed by the rampaging beasts, Kisha nipped through the kitchen, donned her rucksack, and threw her cloak over it. She slipped out the back door, across the cobbled courtyard and into the streets, with more than a twinge of guilt and breathing a gusty sigh of relief.

  She’d never thought she’d abandon her post at the bar. Had promised her dying mother she wouldn’t. She’d even had a vision of Anakisha telling her she was needed here. But now, she had no choice.

  Her boots echoed on the cobbles.

  A tharuk stepped from the shadow of a nearby building, sizing her up. “Where you going?”

  Anywhere but here. In truth, she had nowhere, no one who cared. “I’m taking supplies to my mother on the edge of town,” Kisha lied. Somewhere in Last Stop there was a resistance group called Anakisha’s Warriors. If only she knew where to find them.

  The beast gave her a tusky grin. “Supplies? Let me see.”

  Kisha undid her cloak and opened her rucksack.

  The tharuk bent and reached inside, ripping a chunk of bread off the crusty loaf that would’ve fed her for days. It stuffed its face, tusks gleaming with saliva. Kisha turned, pretending to fumble with her cloak. She slipped the knife out of her waistband, heart pounding. She’d always wanted to get back at the beasts who’d killed her parents.

  As the tharuk bent to snaffle another snack from her rucksack, she plunged her knife at the beast’s neck. But the knife glanced off the beast’s tough fur. The tharuk spun, bashing her knife away. The blade skittered across the cobbles, out of reach. Kisha was left facing a raging tharuk with a tiny slice in its fur.

  Claws sprang from the tharuk’s fingertips. It swiped. Kisha ducked. The beast rammed into her, driving her up against the wall of a building. Stone bit into her back as the tharuk grinned, its claws digging into her shoulders, its tattooed number 617 visible on the bald patch inside its wrist.

  “Think you could kill me, did you?” 617 smirked, dark saliva dribbling off its tusks.

  Dark saliva—by the First Egg, she’d walked straight into a tracker.

  “You’re dead meat. Tasty meat. Commander Zens say we not eat people. But he’s not watching.” 617 opened its ugly maw, fangs gleaming in the flickering light of a street lantern. The beast’s breath blasted her face, a foul stench wafting over her.

  617’s dark chuckle made Kisha’s spine run cold. Gods, she’d never heard of these monsters eating people. Claws still digging into her shoulder, 617 fastened its other hand around her throat and squeezed.

  Kisha thrashed and kicked, but the tharuk’s grip tightened. She gurgled, gasping. Stars danced before her eyes. The beast roared in triumph as it squeezed harder. Darkness edged Kisha’s vision.

  And then 617 slumped against Kisha, its body knocking her to the ground, slamming her elbows and backside onto the cobbles. Rear end throbbing and elbows aching, she struggled out from under the beast.

  An arrow was embedded in its back. For a moment, Kisha sat there, stunned, her breath whooshing in and out of her chest in great gulps.

  A rope whipped down from a neighboring rooftop. A girl’s head appeared over the gutter. “Quick, climb.”

  Kisha scrambled to her feet, stuffed her knife into her waistband, and threw her rucksack on her back. She grabbed the rope and clambered up the side of the building using her feet against the stones. Panting and arms burning like wildfire, she reached the overhang at the top of the building.

  The girl stretched her hand down. “Give me your arm,” she hissed, and helped Kisha over the lip of the rooftop onto the tiles.

  Kisha slumped, trying to catch her breath.

  “No time to rest,” the girl snapped. “There could be a tharuk patrol passing at any moment. Follow me.” She scrambled nimbly across the rooftop.

  Her backside throbbing and head dizzy, Kisha stumbled and slipped on the tiles, then pulled herself upright. There was no point falling to her death, so she followed, more slowly and carefully, trying to ease the pounding of her heart.

  A roar shattered the sky, and then more roars. Over the forest, jets of flame lit up the inky night.

  Gods, no, shadow dragons were coming to Last Stop.

  Anakisha’s Warriors

  “Dragon flame,” Saritha murmured, jolting Ithsar awake.

  Oh, in the name of the blazing sun, she’d dozed off on dragonback. No wonder; it was dark already. Ithsar shifted her backside to ease her aching sit bones. They’d been in the saddle most of the day. The glamour of traveling by dragonback was rapidly wearing off.

  Far off in the inky night, distant flashes flared in the darkness.

  “How far away?” Ithsar asked, snatching Thika from her robes and shoving him into a saddlebag. He clambered out immediately and scampered along Saritha’s back. “How am I supposed to keep you safe in battle if you won’t stay put?” Ithsar muttered.

  “Let me help.” Saritha trumpeted and the lizard scurried back into the saddlebags, trembling. Ithsar buckled the straps. If he really wanted, he could probably still sneak out, but hopefully, Saritha’s warning would help him stay put.

  “So, how far off are we?”

  “A couple of thousand wingbeats.”

  As if that helped. Ithsar checked her weapons, pulled her cloak around her, and peered into the darkness at the distant jets of flame.

  §

  Kisha dashed over rooftops, glad they weren’t leaping over alleys, no matter how narrow they were. Hundreds of pockets of flame lit up the far horizon over Great Spanglewood Forest. A few roiled closer to the far side of town. A huge horde of shadow dragons was coming.

  The girl spun to her. “Shadow dragons. We have to hide.” She grabbed hold of a rope that was anchored to a chimney top. “Follow me.”

  What else did that girl think she was going to do, sit on the rooftop and wave? But Kisha didn’t say a word. She peered over the edge of the gutter as the girl slipped down the rope and entered an open window halfway down the building. Kisha followed, hands aching and slippery with sweat as she shimmied down the rope and clambered through the window.

  In the dim light she could make out a blonde-bearded man, some bedrolls, and a cache of food and waterskins.

  The man strode to the windows and pulled the shutters. “I’m Kadran, and this is my daughter Hana.” He motioned at the girl who had led her across the roofto
ps. A door opened and a woman entered with a lantern, placing it on an old rickety table. “And my wife, Katrine.”

  Hana nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Katrine approached her, took her rucksack, and placed it against the wall. Then, to Kisha’s surprise, she hugged her tightly.

  “Hello, Kisha. We’ve been wanting to reach out to you, but with so many tharuks in the Lost King we haven’t had a chance.” She held her at arm’s distance and looked her over. “It’s true, you’re Anakisha’s granddaughter, aren’t you? You have her eyes. Welcome to Last Stop’s resistance movement. We call ourselves, Anakisha’s Warriors.”

  Kisha nodded, a lump the size of a dragon egg forming in her throat. So people hadn’t forgotten her—or her grandmother.

  §

  Kadran gestured to a spare bedroll. “You may want to snatch some sleep. We’ll be heading out soon to hunt some tharuks, and we may be up fighting all night. Will you join us? Ah, can you fight?”

  “My delivery man is Giant John of Great Spanglewood Forest. He trained me.”

  “You mean the Giant John, the best warrior in Dragons’ Realm? The one who started our resistance group, Anakisha’s Warriors?” Hana asked, eyes round.

  “Yes, that Giant John.” Kisha sat on the bedroll and unpacked some of her food. “Do you mind if I eat? I’m famished.” She unwrapped the waxed cloth to reveal her sandwich and cut it deftly with her dagger, then passed the three of them equal shares. “Giant John still drills me whenever he comes to town. It’s been a while, though.” Kisha took a bite of her bacon and egg sandwich, glad the tracker hadn’t wolfed it down. “I used to train at the back of the inn with some of the locals, but lately there have been too many tharuks around.”

  Commander Zens’ monsters had been frequenting the town for many moons now. Sometimes it felt like they’d always lived under the tharuks’ shadow. Ironically, the Lost King had become one of the beasts’ favorite haunts. This week, hundreds of Zens’ monsters had flooded the village, taking what they wanted, killing mercilessly, their boots stomping down the alleys, their stench permeating the homes of Last Stop.