“I’d heard only tree speakers could collect the juice.”
“True, and I’m not one, so this is doubly precious.”
He held the vial over her ankle, tipped two droplets onto her swollen flesh, then passed it back to her. Ezaara capped the vial, and rubbed the oily residue over her bruised skin.
“Are you all right?”
“It burns a little. It’s nothing.” She bit her lip, and her brow furrowed as she worked the oil into her skin.
The swelling was receding before his eyes. The blotchy purple bruise was fading, growing lighter. Within moments, her ankle was normal. Incredible.
“This stuff’s amazing.” She had pretty ankles and feet, not that he’d ever noticed a woman’s ankles before. Roberto coughed, glancing away.
Ezaara flexed her ankle and leaped up, dancing across the grass. She snatched up his sword and tossed it to him.
Dragon’s eggs! She was beautiful, full of life.
There was no way he could ever act on how he felt—as if he’d be that stupid. Masters weren’t allowed relationships with trainees. He’d never risk banishment after all he’d done to earn his position as master at Dragons’ Hold.
“Now we can duel,” she called.
“You’d better get your boots on,” Roberto growled. “I’m going to put you through your paces.”
Trickery and Stunts
Erob flapped his wings. Exhausted, Ezaara clung tighter to Roberto. Except for that first time, no matter how hard she’d tried, Roberto had beaten her every time they’d dueled today. He’d been remorseless, goading her with jibes as they’d clashed swords. Her beating him earlier had been a fluke, like when she’d beaten Tomaaz in the marketplace.
Erob descended to the edge of the forest and Roberto jumped off, making no move to help her. He strode toward a strongwood tree and hung a leaf on the rough bark of its trunk.
Ezaara slid off Erob. Although she was tired from dueling, it was great to walk and run properly again. She shrugged off her guilt about using piaua. It was too late now.
“Let’s test your archery skills,” called Roberto. “The leaf is your target.”
Stifling a smile, Ezaara called, “It looks awfully small.” This would be a cinch. She and Tomaaz had grown up shooting as soon as they were old enough to fetch arrows.
Roberto took two bows out of Erob’s saddlebag. “Which one do you want to use?” He held a longbow in one hand, and a recurve in the other.
The elegant longbow needed more strength, but was taller and more cumbersome. The recurve was her favorite, the type her family used. The ends of the bow curved forward, creating more tension on the string so arrows could travel faster and further.
“This one, thanks.” She took the recurve. It was similar in feel and size to her one in Lush Valley. Ezaara rubbed her fingers along the string, then sniffed them. Good, it had recently been treated with beeswax.
Roberto observed her, narrowing his eyes. “Do you need any tips?”
He was assuming she couldn’t do anything—why not humor him? Ezaara sighed dramatically. “I’m fine, really.” This could get interesting.
He passed her a quiver of arrows and she slung them across her back. Ezaara wiped her palms on her breeches, nocked her arrow, and raised it to sight the center of the leaf. It took a seasoned archer to evaluate a new bow with only one test shot. As she loosed the arrow, she twitched her bow to the side. The arrow whistled through the air and went wide, hitting a bush.
“Hmm,” Roberto pursed his lips. “Although you sighted well, the bow jerked as you fired. Try again.” He crossed an arm and rested his elbow on it, rubbing his chin.
This time, she let the bow jump to the opposite side.
“Same problem. Let me show you.” He strode toward her.
“No, thanks, I’m fine. I’m just warming up.” Ezaara bit her cheeks to stop herself from grinning. Her next shot was wide, and the one after, too high. All of her arrows had missed the trunk.
“Ezaara, allow me to help you.” Roberto’s jaw was tense.
She’d probably pushed him far enough. “One more shot, please?”
A terse nod.
She loosed an arrow, hitting the center of the leaf. Bullseye. Then she loosed another and another, until the leaf was shredded, prickling with arrows.
If Roberto’s eyebrows rose any higher, they’d meet his hairline.
“What did you think of that?” She ran to the trunk and pulled out the arrows, tucking them back into her quiver.
“We have two weeks to train you, and you think we have time to play games?” He shook his head, then snapped, “Double your distance.”
So, he’d lost his sense of humor? Fine. Two could play that game. Ezaara paced back from the tree to where she’d been standing, then paced that far again. Roberto replaced the leaf with a fresh one. Raising her bow, she loosed an arrow. Another bullseye.
“That far again,” he called.
Pacing off, she turned and fired another shot. Her arrow hit the edge of the leaf.
“Center, this time,” he barked.
“I’d like to see you try,” Ezaara muttered under her breath as she nocked an arrow and let it fly. The arrow hit the leaf, knocking her earlier arrow off the bullseye.
Roberto gave a short nod. “A spinning shot, this time.”
Ezaara faced away from the trunk, nocked her arrow and spun, slamming her front foot down, aiming and loosing the arrow in one fluid motion. It hit the leaf.
Roberto nodded and called her over.
He should be pleased, but no, he was frowning again.
He took her bow and quiver. “Since you’re so proficient at archery, draw your sword.”
Groaning, Ezaara obliged, and they clashed blades again.
§
At the crack of dawn, Ezaara and Zaarusha flew down to the archery range.
“I could’ve easily slept longer.” Ezaara yawned, muscles aching from yesterday’s sword bouts with Roberto. She had bruises too.
“He’s a good trainer,” Zaarusha melded. “And not bad company, once you get to know him.”
“I’d rather befriend a wolf.”
Zaarusha just chuckled.
Roberto was already there, oiling a dry patch on Erob’s neck. He swung back into the saddle as Zaarusha landed. “Good morning, Ezaara. Don’t get down. Today we’re going to be shooting arrows from dragonback.” He nodded at her bow and quiver.
He seemed pleased she’d brought them with her—as if she was a littling that would forget her weapons. Well, his weapons. He’d promised to take her to Master Archer Jerrick to get her own bow today. A shame she’d left hers in Lush Valley.
“I didn’t exactly give you time to pack,” Zaarusha rumbled.
Or say goodbye. Her eyes pricked. Tired, she was just tired.
Roberto’s charcoal gaze focused on her, then flicked across her face. He always seemed to know when she was melding with Zaarusha. Could he hear them?
“No, he can’t,” Zaarusha answered. “He can only access your mind when he touches your temples. That’s his gift. I haven’t seen another like him. Well, there is one, but …” A dark shiver flitted across Zaarusha’s mind.
Ezaara suddenly felt cold. “Who?”
“Later. He’s been patient enough.”
Roberto, patient? Yesterday he’d goaded, commanded and prodded her until she’d nearly dropped from exhaustion. She raised her eyebrows at him.
“Have you ever shot arrows from horseback?” he asked.
“A few times.” More than a few. Pa had drilled them until they could hit a target galloping. It had been a while, though.
“Good. It’s different from dragonback, but you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
That was it? No hints or tips? “How is it different?”
His smile was wry. “You’ll see. Hit the red targets. Erob and I will fly behind Zaarusha, so I can evaluate you.”
So helpful.
Erob took to the skies,
and Zaarusha followed, skimming along the tree tops at the edge of the meadows. Her bow and arrow at the ready, Ezaara scanned the trees. There, a red scrap of cloth was tied to a high branch. Ezaara sighted, aimed, fired. And missed. This was harder than it looked. She nocked another arrow, and aimed at the next target, fluttering in the breeze among the foliage.
Another miss.
Ezaara snatched another arrow out of her quiver. Zaarusha was flying a steady slow course and these targets were all at a similar level. If she was in battle, she’d be dead from a tharuk arrow by now. She aimed at another scrap of red, missing. And another, missing again. And again.
And again.
Erob popped up beside Zaarusha. “Want a few hints?” Roberto called.
Now he asked? “Not yet,” Ezaara replied, then melded with Zaarusha. “Could you slow down a bit and fly closer to the targets?” There, that should be easier. Her arrow speared a branch. Closer, but not a hit. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. “Why is it so hard?” she asked Zaarusha.
“It’s the air currents from my wingbeats.”
“Well, that’s great. If you stop flying in battle, I’ll be too dead to shoot anything.” Ezaara sighed. “Unless you glide each time we pass a target.”
“That often works.”
“So, if you knew, why didn’t you tell me?” Ezaara sighted, aimed. Slightly closer.
“Sometimes, experience is the best teacher.”
She snorted, still feeling the bruises on her ribs from Roberto’s sword, and nocked yet another arrow. “Gentle,” she commanded Zaarusha.
A memory popped into her head: Pa teaching her to shoot from horseback. “It’s all about the balance and the rhythm,” he’d said, demonstrating how to rise up in the stirrups as he fired, to counteract the movement of the horse’s gait.
As the queen steadied her wings, gliding past a strongwood, Ezaara rose in the stirrups and aimed. Her arrow snagged the edge of the red cloth. A hit, her first hit. Only a ragged corner, but better than a miss. She reached into her quiver, but it was empty.
Behind her, Roberto laughed. “Retrieving them is part of your stamina training.” Zaarusha and Erob landed in the nearest clearing and Roberto dismounted. “Get down,” he said. “We haven’t got all day.”
Ezaara dropped to the ground.
“Now, run.” He gestured behind Zaarusha. “Back the way we came. Go and get your arrows.”
She’d fired her first arrow ages back, but there was no way she was going to groan in front of Master Roberto. Ezaara set off at a run. She’d loved running through the forest back in Lush Valley and had done far too little of it at Dragons’ Hold, thanks to her ankle and having Zaarusha to take her everywhere.
“I heard that,” quipped the queen.
Roberto drew level, running beside Ezaara. His feet fell into time with hers. The steady cadence of their breathing contrasted with the rustling foliage and twitter of birds in the trees above. Ezaara was scanning the trees, trying to figure out which one she’d fired at, when he motioned toward a tree with a rope hanging from one of its branches.
“This one.” He held the rope out toward her. “Start climbing, it’s good for fitness.”
Great—tree climbing, running and dragonback archery all in one.
It took Ezaara the rest of the morning to retrieve most of her arrows. When she was done, there were still four missing. Roberto motioned her to sit on a rock at the edge of the clearing. Moments later, Erob and Zaarusha dropped to the grass.
Striding to Erob’s saddlebags, Roberto took out a small cloth bundle. “How are you feeling?”
Hungry and tired, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “As perky as a dragonet.” If dragonets were even perky—she had no idea.
Opening the bundle, he passed her some bread, cheese, an apple, and a waterskin. He motioned at the skin. “Drink that first, it’ll revive you.”
It was sweet, delicious and vaguely familiar. “This is great. What is it?” Ezaara took another swig.
He grinned. “Watermelon juice, a Naobian treat.”
So that was it. “I tasted watermelon once, when I was young. A trader brought some over the Grande Alps. He sold them straight from the river, where he’d submerged them in a huge sack, cooling. It was delicious. Such a strange, foreign delicacy.” A pang of loss for Lush Valley shot through Ezaara. He was far from home too. “Do you miss Naobia?”
A wince shot across Roberto’s face, so fast she almost missed it. “It’s a beautiful place, but no, I don’t miss it.” His face shuttered. “What strategies could you use to find your lost arrows? They’re a valuable resource. You won’t find them, unless you’re smart about it. Think, Ezaara. Think.”
She’d hunted around the ground underneath the targets and searched the foliage to see if they were hidden there. She chewed her breakfast in silence.
“A Queen’s Rider has to use strategy,” Roberto said.
“Well, you’re master of mental faculties. You should be an expert at that.”
His face darkened. “This is an essential part of your training.”
“I could ask the littlings from Dragons’ Hold to find them.”
“Now you’re thinking. Delegation. What else could you do?”
“Get Zaarusha to shake the trees, and see if any of them fall out.”
“How would you know which trees to shake?”
“All the ones with the ropes hanging from them.”
“All of them? But you only lost four arrows.”
Ezaara sighed. “I guess I should’ve marked the trees where we lost the arrows.”
“Yes,” Roberto answered, “you should have. But don’t worry, today I did.”
Biting into her apple, Ezaara said, “So now I have to search around four trees. Those arrows could be anywhere.”
“Strategy, Ezaara, strategy.”
The best strategy would be to walk away from his insufferable questions, but he was her master, so she didn’t dare. “All right, I give in. What’s your brilliant idea?”
Roberto gestured at the vast forest around them. “There was no way I could explain to you the effects of wingbeats on arrow flight, before you’d tried. Just as there’s no way I can explain to you how to develop good strategies that will save you time in battle. Some things have to be done through trial and error. Sometimes experience—”
“—is the best teacher. I know. Long ago, someone wise once told me that.”
“Not that long ago.” Zaarusha chortled. “And very wise.”
“I know, perhaps Zaarusha could help.”
His eyebrows shot up. “How?”
“Maybe she saw where the arrows went.”
“Of course I did. I always look.” Zaarusha gave a small triumphant roar. “I told him you were good, and now you’ve proven it.”
He just raised another stupid eyebrow. “Did you cheat and ask our Honored Queen?”
Ezaara threw her apple core at a tree trunk with more force than necessary. It splattered against the rough bark. “No. I. Did. Not.” She got up and climbed on Zaarusha. “Now, let’s find those arrows.”
§
Ezaara was a fast learner, he’d give her that. And resourceful. No one else he’d trained had ever thought of using the dragons to shake trees, let alone asking them to mark where their arrows had fallen. Although dragons, with their superior intellect and excellent sight, often noticed details that riders missed, most novices were unaware of it. Formidable in battle, dragons were deadly enemies. Roberto was glad he wasn’t fighting against them.
Within a short while, they’d found three arrows and were thrashing around in the bush, searching for the fourth. “Come on,” Roberto said. “It’s not worth spending any longer on this.”
“I thought they were precious?” Ezaara snapped, her face streaked with dirt, and her hair fraying from her braid.
“When you’re done questioning your master’s ability to teach you,” he said, “we’ll do more shooting from dragonback.”
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“Sorry,” she mumbled, her eyes the same shade as the foliage.
He grunted. “When you’re back in the saddle, focus on Zaarusha’s every movement: the flip of each wing and how she rises and falls on the breeze. Rising in the stirrups to make your shots was a good technique, but you have to perfect it. In battle, your targets won’t be static. So far today, you’ve been shooting within close range, alongside a target. I’ll know you’re truly proficient when you can shoot at targets ahead, alongside, and behind you. Are you ready?”
She raised her chin, determination flashing in her eyes.
§
Ezaara ached all over. The last few days’ training from dawn until dusk had been grueling, but at least she could now hit most targets from her saddle. Sitting on the edge of her bed, her stomach muscles groaned in protest as she bent to unlace her boots. Dragon’s sit-ups, Roberto called them, but they were more like torture. He’d made Zaarusha run along the edge of the orchard, and every time a low branch hurtled toward Ezaara, she’d had to lie back to avoid being hit, then pull herself up using her core muscles. She snorted. And that was the least of it. Her days had been filled with sword fighting, tree climbing, running, balancing on ropes above a churning river, scaling rock faces, and eternal target practice. He’d even had her kneeling on the saddle to shoot. Of course she’d missed, how could she not miss when she wasn’t balanced properly?
And through it all, he’d goaded her to be better, try harder, think more like a Queen’s Rider and less like a girl from Lush Valley. She missed her family. Where were they? What was happening to them? Did Tomaaz miss her too?
Sometimes, she glimpsed another side of Roberto, the gentle side that gave her watermelon juice, or a special green apple from the tree his parents had planted. He never talked about them, nor his littling days. No matter how often she asked, he’d always change the subject.
Ezaara threw her boots near the bed so she could easily find them when Roberto came back for her tonight. So tired—and now he wanted her to do flight training. Why in the night, when she was exhausted? Ezaara collapsed on her bed, in her riders’ garb, and drifted to sleep.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 12
