Praise for the Riders of Fire series
Ezaara & Dragon Hero—Storylines NZ Notable Book Awards 2019
Ezaara & Dragon Hero—Quarter Finalists, Epic Fantasy Fanatics 2019 Readers’ Choice Awards
“A great fantasy read.”
Dean O’Gorman, actor, Fili the dwarf in The Hobbit
“Played like a movie in my mind. Mueller is the kind of writer that engages all 5 senses.”
“An explosive series. Nail-biting, fast paced and taut with suspense.”
“A lot of heart and a lot of action.”
“New stories in same genre as Anne MacCaffrey's Pern books. About time someone took up the torch.”
“I may have stumbled upon another favorite series here. I'm eagerly waiting to dive into the next adventure of the Riders of Fire!”
“A spellbinding story from a powerful and equally promising new voice in epic fantasy.”
“A page turner that is literally impossible to put down.”
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Ezaara, Dragon Hero and Dragon Rift and the Riders of Fire series are works of fiction. All characters, events and locations in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to persons or dragons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No dragons were harmed in the making of this book, although there may have been a few injuries to tharuks.
This book is copyright. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for short excerpts for reviews, in fair use, as permitted under the Copyright Act. Dragons’ Realm, the Riders of Fire world, and its characters are copyright.
Ezaara, Dragon Hero, Dragon Rift, Riders of Fire © 2018-2019 Eileen Mueller
Typesetting © Phantom Feather Press, 2020, American English
Cover Art by Christian Bentulan © Phantom Feather Press, 2018-2020
Dragons’ Realm Map by Ava Fairhall © Phantom Feather Press, 2018
Phantom Feather Press Logo by Geoff Popham, © Phantom Feather Press, 2014
Phantom Feather Press
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Magic, every time you turn the page.
Dedication
For my readers all over the world.
You are the wind beneath my wings.
Riders of Fire Books 1-3
Table of Contents
Ezaara — Riders of Fire Book 1
Map of Dragons’ Realm
Lush Valley
Western Pass
Dragons’ Hold
Misgivings
Dragon Flight
Fishing
Queen’s Rider
Prophecy
Knife’s Edge
Deadline
A Testing Time
Trickery and Stunts
Tharuk Attack
Healing
Rider of Fire
Test of the Sword
Suspicions
Betrayal
Secret Plans
Healing Calls
The Wastelands
Zaarusha
Silent Assassins
Imprisoned
A Link Reforged
Escape
Naobia
Dark Secrets
Deadly Intent
Tooth and Talon
Shari
Traitors
River of Sathir
Dragon Hero — Riders of Fire Book 2
Prologue - Eighteen Years Ago
Lush Valley
Death Valley
Scorned
Through Fog
Western Settlement
Trapped
Captive
Last Stop
Bitter Truth
Hunted
Tharuk Attack
Turning Point
A Narrow Escape
Storm Brewing
Snowed In
Star Clearing
Haven
A Nasty Surprise
Weathering the Storm
Soldiering On
Insight
Change of Plans
On Fire
Slipping Away
A Wing Down
A Rude Awakening
Dragons’ Hold
A Risky Approach
Commander Zens
The Creature’s Ploy
Life in Death Valley
Piaua’s Promise
A Terrible Discovery
Hope Awakened
Ezaara
Revelation
Tharuk Crackdown
Closing In
Reunion
Giant John
A New Path
Dragon Rift — Riders of Fire Book 3
Six Weeks Earlier
Dragons’ Hold
War Council
Prank Gone Wrong
Wizardry
Snake-tongue
Erob’s Rescue
Death Valley
Discoveries
Stuck
Surprises
Return
Strangleton
Gossip
Dragons
Mage Gate
Rumors
Vengeance
Kierion’s Folly
Recovery
Rumble Weed
Riona’s Trap
Jael
Dragon’s Jaws
Dragon Stunts
Dragon Race
Feasting
Broken
Spangles
The Cage
Torture
A Crow’s News
Devil’s Choice
Weakness
Mage Fire
Retaliation
Dragons’ Hold
Homeward Bound
The Rift
Home
Shadows
Prophecy
Dire News
Hand-fasting
Promise
More Riders of Fire Adventures
Free Prequel Novelette—Silver Dragon—Riders of Fire
Acknowledgements
About Eileen
Herbal Lore in Dragons’ Realm
Ezaara
Map of Dragons’ Realm
Lush Valley
The scrape of a blade sliding from its scabbard cut through the hum of the market square. Ezaara dropped her herb basket. Spinning, she drew her sword.
Tomaaz. Wasn’t it enough that he’d beaten her last time? And the time before? Of course not—today he had an audience. Sensing a fight, people backed toward stalls of plaited-onion wreaths, wood carvings and hats, clearing a ring around Tomaaz and Ezaara. On the far side of the marketplace, painted scarves fluttered in the breeze.
Tomaaz lunged.
Ezaara blocked his blow, then feinted. In a flurry of strokes, he drove her backward toward an apple cart. Typical. Quick to attack, he loved to corner his opponents.
“Take five to one for Tomaaz,” Lofty yelled. The clink of coppers sealed bets. Folk always favored her brother.
Ezaara whirled as his blade whistled past her face, the whisper of its passage kissing her cheek. That was close, too close. She ducked as he lunged again, then she danced out of reach, saved by her footwork. They fought their way past brightly-patterne
d bolts of cloth. Tomaaz thrust to her right. Dodging, she bumped the table and the bolts went flying.
“Hey, my cloth,” yelled Old Bill as Ezaara leaped over the bolts and Tomaaz gave chase.
Ezaara faced her brother. Perhaps she could distract him. “Seen any pretty girls today?” she taunted, thrusting under his guard. “Look, there’s one behind you.”
His blade answered for him. He was stronger. And faster. She blocked him, arm aching from the impact. Tomaaz’s sword sliced dangerously near. He was so sure he could beat her. Slowing her steps as if she were tiring, Ezaara pretended to stumble, landing on one knee. “Ow!”
Tomaaz faltered. “Ezaara, are you all right?”
Driving her sword under his arm, Ezaara tapped his shirt. “I did it!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “I beat you.”
A chorus of cheers erupted from the onlookers. Lofty called, “Go, Ezaara!”
A man yelled, “Lucky she’s not a tharuk, Tomaaz, or you’d be dead meat.”
A chill skittered down Ezaara’s spine. Thankfully there were no tharuks in Lush Valley.
“Aagh, beaten,” Tomaaz groaned. Sheathing his sword, he wiped the sweat from his brow.
Ezaara met his green eyes squarely. “You chose to fight me here.”
Around them, coppers changed hands. Suddenly, Lofty was there. He pulled her close and kissed her, right on the mouth, mooshing his lips against hers. The crowd oohed. Ezaara shoved him away. Old Bill put a pile of grimy coppers into Lofty’s hand. Lofty punched his fist in the air.
How dare he! Her first kiss—some shrotty smooch, for a bet? Ezaara’s cheeks burned. Half the village had been gawking. She snatched up her basket. Market was only a few days each moon—a nice change from healing people with Ma—but Lofty had just ruined it.
A bellow rang out. “Is that those twins again?” Klaus strode through the scattering crowd. A head taller than most, and as wide as a draft horse, he was the settlement’s arbitrator.
Lofty slipped away. The coward.
“Tomaaz. Ezaara.” Klaus put his hands on his hips.
Some villagers, pretending to be busy, glanced their way. Others stared outright.
“It’s my fault.” Tomaaz squared his shoulders. “I challenged her.”
“In the middle of the marketplace?” Klaus glared. “You could have taken out a littling’s eye.”
Whoops, she hadn’t thought of littlings. Ezaara held up her sword. “Our tips were corked and the blades aren’t sharpened.”
Klaus examined Ezaara’s sword with his thumb and finger. “In any case, you shouldn’t have—”
“She tricked Tomaaz,” Old Bill, the traveling merchant, called, “fighting sneaky, like a dragon rider.”
As low as a dragon rider? Why was Bill mentioning dragons? Especially in front of Klaus. Was he trying to get her into trouble?
Klaus spun on Bill. “I only let you trade here if you keep our rules. If I hear you mention those filthy winged killers and their stinking riders again, you’ll be acquainting yourself with our jail.”
Old Bill glared at Ezaara. She shivered. He gave her the creeps.
Klaus pointed a blunt finger at Tomaaz. “No fighting in the marketplace.”
“Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again,” Tomaaz replied.
Ezaara mumbled her apologies too.
“They knocked over my cloth,” Old Bill protested.
“Help Bill to tidy up.” Klaus threw a last glare at them and went back to his leatherwork.
Old Bill rubbed his hands together. “So, kissed by Lofty, eh?”
Ezaara wrinkled her nose at his fetid breath. The sooner they were finished, the better.
Tomaaz stared at Bill in disgust. “I can’t believe you put Lofty up to that. I mean, he’s liked her for ages, and now he’s blown it. There’s no way my sister’s going to like him back now.”
Ezaara rolled her eyes. “Would you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”
Tomaaz continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Come on, Bill, you should’ve bet Lofty a silver.”
Men! Ezaara punched his arm. “Come on, let’s get this cleaned up.” She picked up a roll of green cloth and dumped it on Old Bill’s trestle table. “Good morning, Lovina.” Would she answer today?
No, as usual, Bill’s daughter, Lovina, ignored her, staring at the ground, lank hair covering her face.
Tomaaz threw most of the bolts on the table, then wandered off.
Ezaara held the last bolt for a moment, rubbing the sea-blue cloth. She’d been admiring it earlier. She’d never seen the sea, but if it was anything like the rippling pattern of blues flowing across this fabric …. She sighed, placing it on the table. Maybe one day she’d see the real ocean.
Old Bill leaned over the stand, his gnarled hand plucking at Ezaara’s sleeve like a roach clinging to a table cloth. “You’ll like this.” He opened his jerkin and pulled out a scrap of black cloth covered in vivid patterns. “Look.” It was beautiful.
She didn’t want anything to do with Old Bill, but she couldn’t resist. Ezaara leaned in, staring. Dragons—the swirls of color were dragons. “That’s forbidden,” she whispered.
“Go on,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Touch it. I know you want to.” He held the cloth out.
Someone would see. Ezaara snatched it. Holding it close, she opened her palm and stroked the wing of a golden dragon, then the tail of a bronze. Set against a dark sky dotted with silver pinpoints, the beasts were beautiful. Were dragons really gold, red and bronze? Or was it only the weaver’s imagination?
“How much for this fabric with the wheat pattern?” A woman’s voice startled Ezaara.
She crumpled the cloth and thrust it into Bill’s waiting hand.
Bill tucked the scrap inside his pocket and elbowed his poor daughter, Lovina. She didn’t respond, just kept staring at her feet. “Twenty-five coppers a measure, my lady,” Bill crooned.
“Twenty-five,” the woman exclaimed. “Why, that’s preposterous! I’d only pay—”
Ezaara fled past the cobbler’s stand, pushing her way through the crowded marketplace, toward Ana’s stall. Old Bill was dangerous. If Klaus had caught her staring at dragons …. Swinging her basket to distract herself from her thumping heart, she strode past hawkers, bleating goats and littlings playing tag. The delicious scent of melted cheese wafted over her. If she could sell her last two healing remedies, she’d be done. And it was early, so she’d have the afternoon off. She headed toward Ana’s hand-painted scarves. Ana had tried to teach her how to paint scarves, but instead of creating beautiful patterns, Ezaara’s had been ugly and splotched.
“Morning, Ana,” Ezaara called. “Need any herbs today?” She swallowed. Did Ana know her son had just kissed her?
Ana smiled, eyes crinkling. “What have you got for me today, Ezaara?”
So, Ana hadn’t seen, thank the Egg. Ezaara passed a pot of healing salve and a bundle of clean herb across the trestle table. “You’re lucky, these are my last.”
Ana peered into Ezaara’s basket. Her brow furrowed. “No owl-wort?”
“No.” Strange question. Ezaara and Ma never usually picked owl-wort unless someone requested it. Most folk didn’t need a herb that helped you see in the dark. Ezaara adjusted her basket on her arm. “It’s still in season. I can bring some by later if you need it.”
“Good, I’ll expect you.” Ana fumbled with her money pouch.
Was Ana planning on going out at night? Or was the herb for Lofty? He was always sneaking out with Tomaaz, getting into trouble.
Coppers clinked as they passed from Ana’s well-worn hands into hers—three coppers. “You’ve given me too much.”
“That last coin is for the owl-wort,” Ana replied. “I want to make sure you bring it today.”
So, someone was going out tonight. “I’ll come by later.”
Ezaara threaded her way through the villagers, past a weapons stand and Klaus’ leather work. Near the cooper’s stall, the clacking o
f sticks came from behind a stack of barrels.
Busy serving customers, the cooper’s wife rolled her eyes. “Those naughty boys are fighting again,” she grumbled.
“I’ll check on them,” Ezaara offered. She ducked down the side of the stall.
Behind the barrels, Paolo and Marco were going at it with sticks. Marco, a littling of only six summers, was blocking his older brother’s strikes, even though Paolo had the stronger arm and longer reach. Then Paolo gave a mighty swing—too hard, too high.
“Watch out!” Ezaara leaped forward, too late.
Paolo’s stick smacked Marco’s face. Marco howled and clutched his nose, blood spurting between his fingers. Paolo’s face froze in horror.
“Go fetch some water, Paolo,” said Ezaara, striding between them. “Quick.”
As Paolo dashed off, she sat Marco on a small barrel and checked his face. Luckily, his nose wasn’t broken. “Bleeding noses hurt,” she soothed him, “but you’ll live to fight another day. Here, lean forward.”
His blood dripping onto the ground, Marco was still crying.
Ezaara leaned in, whispering, “Even though Paolo’s bigger, you almost had him.”
“I did?” Marco’s tears stopped.
“Definitely.” She grinned.
Paolo returned, passing Ezaara a waterskin.
She pulled a cloth from the leather healer’s pouch at her waist and sloshed water over it. “Now, be brave, like a warrior.” She gently wiped Marco’s face.
“Sorry,” said Paolo. “We was trying to fight like you and Tomaaz.”
Ezaara winced. She’d never thought of littlings copying them. “The first lesson Pa taught me was not to hit too hard,” she said. “Remember, you’re training with your brother, not slaying a dragon. You need to keep your sword nice and low, and aim at the body, not the head.”
Paolo nodded wisely as if she was a great master.
She scooped some healing salve out of a tiny tub in her pouch and dabbed it on Marco’s nose. “As good as new.”
“You’re lucky your folks taught you,” Marco piped up, looking a lot better without blood leaking out of his nose. “Ours can’t fight, but we’re going to battle tharuks when we grow up.”
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 1
