A blue dragon swooped, its wings nearly brushing the foliage, lowering the rope. The wizard dropped to the ground and rolled to his feet. He rushed over to the dead tharuk, grabbed the keys hanging at its waist, and unlocked the shackles on Hans’ wrists.
The mage pumped his hand. Was that the blood rushing back into Hans’ unbound hands or an inadvertent trickle of wizard power that made his palms tingle?
“The name’s Giddi,” the mage said.
“Hans.” Hans balked. “You’re Master Giddi, the Dragon Mage?” It couldn’t be. The Dragon Mage was the most famous wizard in Dragons’ Realm, able to mind-meld with any dragon or person at will. Why would he be here, helping a nobody like him?
Master Giddi’s teeth flashed against his dark beard. “The one and only. Now, come on! Who else needs help?”
Shocked into action, Hans made for the trail, talking as they ran. “My older brother Guin is still captive, but they’ve taken our whole village away to use as slaves.”
“Which village?” Master Giddi asked sharply.
“Monte Vista. Tharuks say the group is halfway up the Terramites by now.”
“Tharuks?” The wizard raised a bushy eyebrow.
“That’s what those monsters call themselves. What are they?”
“We believe these creatures have come through a world gate with their cruel leader.”
“Commander Zens?”
“That’s him.”
They slowed to sneak along the tree line. Charred bodies of tharuks littered the trail, some still smoking. The cloying stench of burned fur coated Hans’ tongue.
“Where’s your brother?”
Hans shrugged. “Tharuks must’ve fled with him.”
The roar of dragons soon led them back into the clearing where the tharuks had killed Rosie. A tharuk held Guin, claws at his throat. Another had an arrow nocked to its bow, and a third was twisting Guin’s injured, shackled arm. Behind them, Guin’s horse, Thunderfoot, was dead too.
Hans tired to avoid looking at Rosie, but his eye was drawn by something glinting. There, behind her hacked carcass, was his sword.
Sprinting over, Hans snatched up his sword and charged at the tharuks. One loosed an arrow. Hans swerved, barely avoiding the arrow tip as it flew past. One of Giddi’s fireballs blasted past him and hit the archer in the forehead. It dropped dead.
Then the bronze dragon arrived, its majestic scales gleaming in the sun as it dived and plucked up a tharuk in its talons.
Guin screamed as the tharuk jolted into the air, yanking his injured arm. Then Hans’ brother slumped, unconscious. The bronze dragon tossed the tharuk’s body high into the forest canopy. It smacked into a branch, then hit the grass, among a shower of foliage and sticks, with its neck at an odd angle. Dark blood pooled around it.
The remaining tharuk leapt upon Guin, its claws raised above his vulnerable neck, as he lay, head lolled to one side.
“Go,” called Giddi. “Mage fire and dragon flame will burn your brother. Go!”
Hans sprinted. The tharuk swiped its claws downward—
“No!” Hans yelled, driving his sword at the creature’s side.
Startled, the tharuk looked up.
Hans’ sword connected with fur, then flesh. He rammed his body weight behind the blow, feeling the crunch of bone and the tear of flesh. The injured beast lunged, sinking its claws deep into Hans leg. He fell, the tharuk sprawled across him as it gave its last shuddering breath.
A moment later, the mage was there, rolling the monster’s body off him and pulling its sharp claws from his leg.
“Stinking scum.” The wizard booted the tharuk, then crouched beside Hans.
Nearby, there was a whump as the bronze dragon landed. Its keen green eyes regarded him.
Hans tried to make light of his wounds, but the three long gashes in his calf stung and his muscle knotted when he tried to stand. Not to mention his chest and back, which were still aching from his earlier injuries. “I’m fine,” he said, dragging himself over to sit by Guin.
“And I’m a chicken’s behind,” Master Giddi said. “Let me check your brother.”
“Did that arrow poison him?”
The dragon mage checked Guin’s breathing, then gave him a shake. “No, he banged his head.”
Guin stirred and his eyes fluttered, but he was still groggy. Hans smoothed the hair from Guin’s brow. “It’s all right, I’m here.”
“I take it that was your horse?’ the wizard asked, flicking his head towards Rosie.
Hans acknowledged his question with an eyebrow, not turning to look.
“There’s only one thing for it,” the mage answered, ripping a strip of cloth to form a makeshift bandage for Guin’s arm. “We’ll have to take you both home by dragon. Now, put your hand on Handel’s snout so you can mind-meld with him.”
Hans stared at the bronze beauty. Formidable. Breathtaking. The most beautiful dragon he’d ever seen.
“Go on,” the mage muttered impatiently. “We haven’t got all day. We’ve a village to save.”
Hans hobbled over to the bronze dragon, who lowered his head so he could place his hand on its forehead.
“My name is Handel. What’s yours?” a deep voice rumbled through Hans’ mind.
He’d heard of mind-melding, but Hans hadn’t expected this rush of warmth and the swelling in his chest. “H-Hans.”
“I’m sorry for your horse.” The dragon flicked a talon toward Rosie.
Hans swallowed the lump in his throat as fond memories of riding Rosie on his tenth birthday flitted through his mind, followed by them cantering through fields, practicing horseback archery for their hunts. “A loyal steed.”
“And rider, from what I sense.” Handel blinked at him. “You’re not alone in your grief. I recently lost my rider, too.”
Hans gasped. “Your rider?” His mind churned. “Does she have flaxen hair and eyes the color of a mountain lake?”
“That’s her,” Handel said.
An image of the rider Pa had found near the trail shot through Hans, except she looked very much alive, laughing and twirling her sword as she sparred with dragon riders, steep mountains rising behind her. That would be at Dragons’ Hold, where all dragon riders trained.
“It is Dragons’ Hold,” Handel said. “And she is Idelian.”
“Yes, I’m afraid Idelian’s dead. I left her, covered in a blanket, at my home.” Had Pa buried her yet?
“Then it’s only fitting that I take you back there and we give her a dragon’s send-off.”
“But first we have to save my ma and sister. And all my friends.”
A downdraft rustled the foliage and a blue dragon landed. “Orders, Master Giddi?” its rider called.
“The monsters have taken the whole of Monte Vista captive, as slaves,” the mage answered. “The Egg knows what for! Take your wing and follow them over the Terramites. Don’t risk losing our people. I don’t want full-scale bloodshed, so only attack if there’s a good chance of freeing them. We’ll join you after we’ve returned these men to their home.”
“Understood,” called the blue guard.
Handel and the blue dragon roared their approval as the blue rose into the air, stirring Hans’ curls with the breeze from its wings.
“But—” called Hans, determined to go. He staggered forward, leg throbbing. It was no use, they were injured. “Hey,” he said to Guin, “you all right?”
Guin’s face was pale and drawn. “Just dizzy.” He ran a hand over his face.
Hans propped him up against a tree. “Looks like Master Giddi is a dab hand at bandages.” He gestured at the rough strip of cloth binding Guin’s wound. “You think you’ll be all right going home by dragon?”
Guin just shut his eyes.
Handel butted Hans’ shoulder with his snout. Hans touched his head so they could mind-meld again. “We should give your horses a fitting pyre.”
Relief coursed through Hans. He’d hated the idea of leaving what was left
of Rosie and Thunderfoot here for carrion and more tharuks to feast on.
“Rosie was her name.”
“Good. I’ll make a funeral pyre fit for a worthy steed. And the name of your brother’s mount?”
“Thunderfoot.”
Handel went first to Rosie, then to Thunderfoot, and set their bodies alight.
Giddi added green wizard flame to the blaze. Hans watched his companion burn, tears streaking his cheeks. When he noticed Giddi watching him, he made no attempt to wipe them away. He’d wear his love for Rosie like an honor badge.
Guin sat staring, saying nothing, and when they helped him onto Handel’s back, sandwiching him between Giddi and Hans, he remained silent.
Home Again
As soon as Handel touched down on the field outside their cottage, Alfie came running outside. “Hans,” he cried, “I knew you’d come back!”
Pa walked onto the porch, shading his eyes from the sun, staring up at Handel.
“Hey, Pa, Alfie,” Hans slid down from Handel’s back. Alfie rushed over, grabbing his legs, stinging his wound, but Hans didn’t care. He scooped his littling brother up, swinging him into the air, and hugged him tight. “Pa, meet Master Giddi and Handel. They’re helping us find Ma and Evelyn.”
Pa grunted, taking in their makeshift bandages. “Doesn’t look like they’re doing much at the moment, except playing nursemaid to you two.”
Master Giddi assisted Guin off Handel, then walked him over to Pa. “Fine lads you have here,” he said. “There are terrible creatures out there taking people as slaves. They fought well.”
“That’s fine,” snapped Pa. “But Marika and Evelyn are missing, and someone had better find them.” He turned and strode through the door, slamming it behind him.
The tips of Hans’ ears grew hot. “I’m, uh, sorry, Master Giddi. I thought—”
Giddi shrugged. “Don’t take it too hard. Loss affects people in different ways.”
Guin frowned and his face went red. “That’s all the thanks we get for risking life and limb?” he muttered.
Hans put Alfie down. “He’s in shock, Guin. We did our best.”
“Didn’t help much, did it? We didn’t save anyone, and now we’re injured.” Guin followed Pa inside.
“Your father’s right,” Master Giddi said. “We must save your people. Let’s give Idelian her pyre and be on our way.” He bowed to Handel. “Not to rush you, sir.”
Hans carried Idelian from her resting place on the porch. She was barely a few years older than him, yet her life was over already.
“Lay her on the grass.”
Hans did. He removed the blanket. “Wait a moment,” he called, and dashed off to his mother’s garden. Picking a few flowers, he deftly wove them into a chain and looped it around the rider’s neck. “From our family, in honor of her service as a dragon rider.”
Master Giddi remained silent.
Handel bowed his head.
For a moment, the only sounds were the chirruping crickets, birds calling in the forest and the thumping of Hans’ heart.
Handel flapped his wings, stirring Hans’ hair, and lifted into the air. The mighty bronze dragon swooped and delicately plucked Idelian off the grass with his talons. He flew above the house, above the trees, until he was as small as a bird in the sky. Something dropped from his talons.
No, it was Idelian!
Hans’ heart pounded like a battle drum as he watched her body fall through the sky.
Handel chased her, but she was falling too fast.
The bronze dragon roared and his maw shot open, flame wreathing Idelian’s body. He breathed more fire over her and, still plummeting, she burned, dragon flame brightening the sky.
At Hans’ side, Master Giddi stirred. “May her spirit soar with departed dragons,” he murmured, placing his fist over his chest, keeping his eyes on Idelian.
Hans repeated the phrase as a gentle breeze dispersed the ashes from Idelian’s body over the strongwood trees of the Great Spanglewood Forest.
Handel settled back on the earth and pushed his snout under Hans’ hand to meld. “May we meet again under happier circumstances.”
“I hope so,” Hans replied.
“I know so,” Handel said cryptically.
Master Giddi swung into the saddle. “Until we fly again,” he said to Hans.
The cottage door slammed open. “That dragon still here?” yelled Pa. “Isn’t it about time you left to save Marika and Evelyn?” He stormed back into the house.
Plans
Hans dug the spade into the earth and brought up a shovelful of carrots. He and Guin bent down to loosen the earth and bang the dirt off before tossing the carrots into a pile. Guin cut the tops off and then littling Alfie threw them into the barrow.
“So, how’s your arm today?” Hans asked.
“Much better.” Guin flexed his bicep. “Almost normal again, just a twinge. Your leg?”
“It came right last week, but it wasn’t as bad as yours.” Hans grimaced, remembering the way the tharuk had shredded his brother’s muscle.
“Look, there’s one of your friends again.” Guin gazed up.
“A dragon!” Alfie exclaimed. “I can’t believe you both really rode one.”
Hans raised his head. Blue dragons flitted past, high overhead. No bronze. He sighed. Every day he’d relived those moments flying on Handel’s back. Even though he’d been in pain, it was the most exhilarating experience of his life. It’d been four weeks since Idelian’s funeral. Each day, he hoped to see Handel. The dragon had said they’d meet again. Why would he say that if he didn’t mean it?
Hans sighed. The dream of riding Handel again had given Hans hope. By the Egg, he had to have something to look forward to. With Ma and Evelyn missing and no one in their village to speak of, they were living a ghost life. Pa had sunk into despair, sitting for hours inside, staring at the wall, barely noticing them anymore— unless they brought him a meal.
They’d deliberately kept themselves busy, waiting for their wounds to heal, tending the animals and keeping their home running. Fagen sometimes helped, but often got in the way, until Hans discovered the old fellow enjoyed feeding the chickens—as long as he took Alfie with him to shut the gates. Funny, how a boy of four summers was now more responsible than the two oldest men in the home. Hans shook the dirt off the next spadeful of carrots and tossed them to his brother.
“Alfie, it’s time to check the chickens with Fagen,” Guin said, straightening and rubbing the small of his back. He waved his blade at the chickens’ pen. “Off you go.”
Alfie glanced at Hans first, waiting for a nod of approval, then scampered off.
“You’ve been restless for days,” Hans said as soon as their littling brother was out of earshot. “You want to go again, don’t you?”
Guin nodded. “Now that we’ve recovered, we have to try.” He hacked the top off a bunch of carrots and kept his voice low. “We should go tonight. Sneak out while Pa’s sleeping. Take the horses from the smithy’s yard. They’re the strongest left here and I’ve been feeding them well.”
“So, that’s where you went today?”
“Their saddles are ready; they’re well shod and have had plenty of grass to eat. They’d be fit for the long ride to the Terramites.”
“And then?” Hans jabbed his spade into the earth. “What? We just leave them to be slaughtered the way our own mounts were?”
Guin didn’t answer. He hacked viciously at the carrot tops.
They worked in silence, until the slam of the gate on the chicken pen signaled that Alfie was coming.
There were hundreds of reasons not to go. Hundreds of reasons to stay behind and work to feed their littling brother, Pa and Alfie. And stock to check around the village.
But there was also Ma and Evelyn somewhere beyond the Terramites in the hands of monsters. Hans met Guin’s blue gaze. “I’m in,” he said. “We’ll go tonight.”
§
Hans made plenty of stew,
spooning large bowlfuls for himself and Guin and putting a huge pot in the meat safe. He made a show of taking Alfie with him so the littling knew where the stew was. Gods, he felt guilty, sneaking off leaving the adults in the care of a littling, but he couldn’t take the lad with him. Not into the hands of tharuks. Truth be known, he’d been showing Alfie how to do everything since they’d gotten back, preparing for the day he knew Guin would ask him to leave. There was no way he could just sit here knowing his ma and sister were in tharuks’ hands.
He hoped fervently that no tharuks attacked the village. Luckily, Alfie knew how to hide.
There was a whump outside the cottage.
Alfie, staring out the window, yelled. “They’re here. Ma’s home!”
What? “That’s not funny, Alfie.” Hans reprimanded him. “Come on, wash your face. It’s time for bed.”
“No, I want to see Ma.” Alfie ran for the door and yanked it open.
Hans followed, trying to catch him, but he raced onto the porch yelling for Ma. Hans shot outside and stopped in his tracks.
On the grass in front of the house was Handel. Master Giddi was sitting on his back behind Ma, his arms around her waist with someone slumped between them.
Evelyn.
Something was wrong. They weren’t smiling. Ma’s face was blank, her stare vacant. Her mouth hung slack.
“Hans,” Master Giddi called, voice strained. “Help me. Please.”
Hans rushed over. He helped Ma down, but it was like guiding a littling who couldn’t think for herself. Yes, something was definitely wrong.
Two somethings.
Somehow Ma’s mind was broken. And Evelyn was pale and unmoving—dead.
“Alfie,” he said calmly, putting Ma’s hand into his brother’s. Take Ma inside and get her a bowl of stew. There’s a good boy.”
“Ma! Ma! You’re home.” Alfie flung his arms around Ma’s legs. When she didn’t respond, he pulled back. “What’s wrong with her?” He cried, tears running down his face. “She won’t answer.”
Hans didn’t know either.
“She’s very tired.” Hans crouched, gazed into his eyes and hugged him. “Take her inside and give her some dinner. Hopefully, Ma will feel better after a meal and some sleep.” He winked. “You know how it feels to be too tired to talk.”
Bronze Dragon, A Riders of Fire prequel novelette Page 4