Fleur broke formation first, flying further along the river with a few riders to set up her healing outpost. Aidan and Tonio’s squads swooped over the town, shooting tharuks. Alyssa’s squad flew to the far side of the village, depositing sword fighters where the battle was thickest. Dragons from Jerrick’s squad defended the perimeter, blasting flame at monsters as they swarmed from the forest. Dragon riders’ arrows were thick in the air.
A tharuk broke from the forest, zigzagging past arrows and sword fighters. Standing in her stirrups, Ezaara shot at its head and missed. She loosed another arrow, hitting the beast in the chest.
“Nice kill,” Zaarusha purred. “Let’s get some more.”
A tharuk had a man cornered against a barn. Roberto released his arrow, shooting the monster through the back of the neck. Whipping another arrow from his quiver, he spun and shot another brute through the gut.
A desperate scream rang out. There, beneath her, a young girl was running away, a toddler on her hip. The girl tripped, regained her footing, and kept running. A tharuk pursued her across a meadow, grass trampled in its wake. Two more appeared from the trees.
Zaarusha swooped and blasted the rear tharuk with fire, incinerating him. “The next is yours.”
Heart pounding, Ezaara pulled back her bowstring and fired. Black blood sprayed from the beast’s chest. It collapsed to the ground. She whipped out another arrow and nocked it. More monsters were coming.
With a roar, Zaarusha sped toward a gangly tharuk. It glanced skyward, giving Ezaara the perfect shot. The arrow flew true, piercing the brute’s forehead.
The girl kept her head down, running. The littling on her hip screamed as the girl stumbled, then kept going. The monster chasing her mowed through the tall grass, intent on his prey.
Ezaara tried to line up a shot. It was impossible. She’d hit the girl. “Zaarusha, let’s try from the side. I can’t get a clear shot.”
The dragon queen swerved, changing her angle, but the tharuk changed his position too.
“It’s no use, Zaarusha,” Ezaara cried. “I’ll hit the girl or the babe.”
The monster leaped, tackling the girl and slamming her to the ground. Her scream rang out above the sound of the distant battle.
“Zaarusha, let me down. Now.” Ezaara unfastened her waist harness and pulled her feet out of the stirrups. “I’m not having the lives of littlings on my conscience.”
Zaarusha swooped low. Ezaara swung her legs over one side of the saddle and eased herself down. A meter or two above the ground, she let go and dropped to the earth. Rolling to stand, she unsheathed her sword and ran at the monster.
The beast was holding the girl up by the neck, crushing her throat. Her fingers scrabbled at his furry hands. She was gasping for breath. The toddler ran at the beast, beating at its leg. The tharuk kicked it, and the littling went flying into a tree trunk, then dropped to the ground, motionless.
Ezaara’s pulse sped. Racing up behind the monster, she plunged her sword through its back. The tharuk dropped the girl, swinging its arms wildly. Her arms aching from the impact, Ezaara ducked to avoid its savage claws. She held tight, pushing the sword with her full body weight. The beast groaned, dropping to its knees, black blood pumping onto the grass.
A roar split the air in the meadow. Ezaara yanked her sword out of the beast and turned.
Brilliant blue, Erob blew a gust of flame over three tharuks until they were smoking heaps of debris.
“Send the girl to me,” Zaarusha melded. There she was, near a grove of trees.
The girl was kneeling by the littling, weeping and stroking its hair. More tharuks were pounding toward them.
Ezaara ran to the girl, shaking her arm. The littling was a boy. A wee boy, unconscious but breathing. “Quick, take the boy and go.” She pointed to Zaarusha. “Flee.”
The girl scooped the littling to her chest and ran.
“Ezaara, behind you.”
Ezaara spun. A tharuk as wide as three men swiped at her with its claws. She ducked. Sliding forward on one knee, she drove her sword up into its belly. The beast’s agonized roar nearly split her head in two, before it crumpled, knocking her flat. Sharp pain ran up her sword arm. She was trapped under its shoulder, its matted fur mashed into her face. The tharuk jerked. Her body twitched in response. She gagged on its stench.
“Ezaara,” Roberto bellowed. “Incoming tharuks.”
Pushing up, she tried to force the dead beast off her. Its enormous torso pinned her legs, preventing her from rolling. She was wet with its blood. The pommel of the sword, still lodged in its gut, was digging into her side and her hand was throbbing.
The ground thudded with footfalls. Something was getting closer. Ezaara frantically shoved and grunted, but she was trapped.
There were roars, grunts and cries, the wet thump of bodies hitting the ground.
“Ezaara!” It was Roberto. On his knees, he lifted up the tharuk’s hip. “Dragon’s eggs, this thing is heavy.”
It gave her enough space to force one knee and her arms up. Together, they pushed. As the tharuk’s weight slid off her, fresh air rushed back into her chest, making her gasp.
“Are you all right?” His face was tight with concern.
“Look out,” she gasped. A tharuk was charging him. She scrambled to her feet.
He spun to fight the beast. Easily two heads taller than Roberto, its claws shredded his cloak as he danced out of reach.
“I’ve got the girl and littling,” Zaarusha melded, now airborne above them. “I’m taking them back to the healing post.”
Erob swept above the far side of the meadow, blasting any tharuks who dared approach.
Gripping the pommel of her sword with two hands, Ezaara placed her foot on the dead beast’s gut and yanked. With a squelching suck, the sword slid free and she stumbled backward. Regaining her footing, she faced the monster attacking Roberto. After this one, there were two more to deal with.
Standing just beyond their swords’ reach, the three monsters formed a wall, cutting off their retreat to Erob. A scar-faced tharuk crouched, ready to pounce. The largest brute waved his sword menacingly, advancing on Roberto. The third rushed at Ezaara.
She feinted to the left, then thrust her sword to the right, gashing the tharuk’s arm. Snarling, the beast swiped at her and she spun out of reach, standing at Roberto’s back. This tharuk was smaller. With her sword, she had the longer reach. She leaped, attacking the beast.
Behind her, grunts and groans ripped the air before a high-pitched scream rang out.
“Scar-face is down,” Roberto yelled amid snarls.
Ezaara’s tharuk tried to knock the weapon from her grip. She chopped at its clawed furry hands. Her sword found its mark, piercing the monster’s palm. It howled, then wrapped its other hand round the sword blade. Not caring about slicing its fingers further, the beast pulled, yanking Ezaara closer.
For an instant she resisted, then let her bodyweight fly, slamming the beast to the ground. Pulling a dagger from her boot, she thrust the blade through its throat, then stood, chest heaving, to retrieve her weapons.
The tharuks were dead. The meadow was silent, save for the crackle of Erob’s flames as he kept further tharuks at bay.
Ezaara spun. Roberto was hunched over near the large brute, his body curled in pain.
She ran. Crouching next to Roberto, she examined him. Three gashes across his jerkin were stained red with his blood. Ezaara reached for her healing pouch at her waist, but cursed. In her haste to get ready, she’d left it behind. “Come,” she said, “let’s get you to Fleur’s healing post.”
His breathing was shallow, eyes wide with pain. “No, not Fleur. You can heal me back at Dragons’ Hold.”
He could bleed out before they got there. “No, Roberto. Fleur’s closer.”
“Never.” He winced.
“Roberto, this is no time for prejudice. I know you don’t like Simeon’s family, but this is your life we’re talking about.”
> “That’s why I don’t want Fleur,” he spat through gritted teeth. Roberto gripped her hand, hurting it. “Promise you’ll take me straight home.”
Erob was still busy battling tharuks, but beyond the trees, she saw the glint of Zaarusha’s wings. She nodded. “Zaarusha! Hurry! Roberto’s hurt.”
Healing
Zaarusha thudded onto the ledge. Slumped over Zaarusha’s saddle, Roberto twitched. Ezaara shook him. He groaned. A trail of his blood ran down Zaarusha’s side.
“Roberto,” she urged. “We’re home. I can’t lift you down.”
“Get help,” Zaarusha commanded. “I’ll let you know if his breathing changes.”
Leaving Roberto tied to Zaarusha’s saddle, Ezaara dashed through her cavern into the main tunnels. Adelina wasn’t in the mess. Nor the training cavern. She stopped a girl. “Do you know where Adelina is?”
“Try the infirmary. Lars asked her to relieve Simeon for his meal break.”
Good, she’d need a few supplies to treat Roberto. Ezaara raced along the tunnel. The infirmary was empty except for Adelina.
“Hi, Ezaara, why are you back so early? Is the fight finished?”
Ezaara deliberately kept her voice low. “It’s Roberto, he’s injured.”
Dismay shot over Adelina’s face.
“A tharuk gashed his chest,” Ezaara said. “I need your help to lift him off Zaarusha. At my den, um, cavern.” She yanked open a drawer. “First, clean herb and bear’s bane.” She opened another drawer. Where was the vigor weed, clear-mind or heat herb? Not to mention basic supplies such as arnica or slippery elm powder.
“There’s nothing in those drawers,” Adelina said. “The only things I’ve found are endless tubs of smelly yellow salve, some green paste and grayish leaves.”
Ezaara yanked open a cupboard, but only found more of the ghastly yellow stuff. “Fleur says it’s made of special ingredients brought by the green guards.”
“Green guards come from Naobia, like me, and I’ve never seen that stuff there.” Adelina leaned closer. “Roberto doesn’t trust Fleur’s remedies, and I don’t either.”
Of course, Adelina shared her brother’s ridiculous prejudice. Ezaara picked up a small pot of yellow salve. “I’d better try this, in case Fleur’s right.”
“Not on my brother, you don’t.”
“What’s behind that old curtain?” Ezaara asked. While Adelina was distracted, Ezaara tucked the tiny pot in her jerkin pocket.
“I don’t know,” said Adelina. “Let’s check.”
Ezaara flung the curtain back to reveal an alcove of shelves crammed full of pots and jars all filled with the yellow salve or a sticky green paste. A few pouches contained gray leaves.
As she was turning away, Ezaara spied some earthenware jars at the back of the bottom shelf. “What’s in those?”
Dropping to their knees, she and Adelina pulled pots of yellow salve off the shelf to get at the earthenware jars. They uncorked a few.
An oniony scent filled the air. “That’s bear’s bane,” Ezaara said, pointing at Adelina’s jar of clear salve. “This one’s freshweed.” She put the cork back and opened another jar of dried pale-green leaves with a familiar tang. “Clean herb! I’ve got what I need. Let’s go.”
“This stuff has obviously been hidden,” Adelina said. “I knew they were up to no good.”
“Hurry, Ezaara,” melded Zaarusha. “Roberto’s breathing is getting more labored.”
“Quick,” Ezaara said. “Roberto’s getting worse.”
While Ezaara hurriedly replaced the pots at the back of the shelf, Adelina took off her jerkin and bundled the clean herb and bear’s bane pots inside it.
“So no one sees,” Adelina whispered, her face tight.
They’d just stepped out of the alcove and pulled the curtain shut when footsteps echoed outside the infirmary. Ezaara jerked her head toward the doorway and she and Adelina rushed across the room, slowing as Simeon entered.
Ezaara smiled, stepping in front of Adelina so Simeon wouldn’t see her bundle.
“My Honored Queen’s Rider.” He smiled warmly. “Are you hurt?” He took her in, head to foot.
She was splattered in black tharuk blood and red smears from Roberto. She had to think fast so Simeon didn’t suspect anything. Not that she’d ever hold anything back from him, but Roberto’s business was his own. “Zaarusha sent me to check on any injured riders, but none have arrived yet.”
“You look a little nervous. Would you like a restorative tea to help calm you?”
“Hurry,” Zaarusha melded.
“No, thanks. I’d better get back to the queen,” Ezaara called. She and Adelina walked swiftly to the door.
“Adelina, aren’t you staying to help?” Simeon asked.
Adelina smiled sweetly. “I’ve been asked to help in the kitchens, but I’ll send someone right along.”
Moments later, they were running along the corridor.
“He’s losing more blood.”
“Come on, Adelina.” Ezaara rushed through her cavern to Zaarusha’s den. Adelina dumped the remedies on a table and ran after her. Climbing onto Zaarusha, Ezaara fumbled with the ropes around Roberto’s waist, untying him from the saddle. He groaned as she and Adelina lifted him down.
He was as heavy as a horse, but they managed to carry him to her bed. Blood soaked into the white quilt. Grabbing half a palm of clean herb, Ezaara threw it into a cup and thrust it at Adelina. “Fill it halfway with water and ask Zaarusha to warm it.”
Roberto’s eyes slid open. His gaze was unfocused, bleary. He gripped her arm. “Thank you … no Fleur.” He slumped back on the bed, eyelids fluttering.
Slashing his tunic open, Ezaara examined the wounds. Three claw marks, not deep enough to puncture any internal organs, but deep enough to make him bleed like a stuck goat. “You’re going to be all right, Roberto,” she murmured as Adelina returned with the infusion and some cloths.
After cleaning Roberto’s wounds, Ezaara smeared bear’s bane over the edges, the pungent onion scent making her eyes water. Surely it was the onion—not his pale pain-laced face—that made her want to cry. This was her tough master, impossible to please, cool and detached.
“That stuff stinks like leek soup,” said Adelina. “What’s it for?”
Blinking back her tears, Ezaara answered steadily, “Numbs the wound, so it won’t hurt when I stitch it.” Hands trembling, she drew her needle out of her healer’s pouch and started stitching his gashes.
Adelina clenched and unclenched her hands, then started pacing back and forth, her footsteps gnawing a hole in Ezaara’s patience.
“Would you like something to do to keep your mind off things?”
“Please.” Adelina’s voice shook almost as much as Ezaara’s hands.
“Fetch him some clean clothes.”
“Good. I’ll be back soon.” Adelina rushed out the door.
Hands coated red, Ezaara pushed the needle through Roberto’s skin, pulling the edges together. She hated stitching. Although she knew it helped, it always felt strange to put holes in people’s bodies to make them better.
“Colors, so many colors,” Roberto murmured, the trace of a smile on his face.
Great. Here she was, fretting over him, while he was having a pleasant dream. She shook her head. This was worse than she’d thought—he was delusional.
§
She was near—so close, but so far. Deep sea-greens and marine blues danced through Roberto’s mind as Ezaara smeared onion salve over him, numbing his skin, making the stabbing in his chest ease to a blunt ache. He could feel her tugging at his wounds, but the sensations were disembodied, like they belonged to someone else.
And through it all was the bright thread that joined them together.
“Roberto.” Ezaara sounded like she was calling through water.
He forced his eyelids open, but they kept sliding shut as his body dragged him back under.
“Roberto,” she called, sharper this
time.
Bolts of pink shot across his vision, behind his eyelids. She could do that? Just with her voice? He was riding a sea of sensation, like a raft on the ocean, drifting away from her again.
The tugging stopped.
Her hands rubbed across his chest, leaving trails of blazing fire in their wake. His wounds seared, the burn biting deep inside him, aching through his chest. His eyes flicked open to glimpse a slim vial in her hand, then thudded shut again. Piaua. This was piaua—the reason she’d winced as he’d applied it to her ankle. It burned its way through his flesh, knitting his chest together, the deep healing fire purging his damaged tissue.
By the Egg, it hurt.
“At least it won’t leave scars.” Warmth washed through him. It was her, speaking in his mind.
Roberto forced his eyes open. The fog lifted, his vision clearing. There she was: green eyes wide, leaning over him, rubbing his chest, her golden hair shining in a shaft of sunlight.
She smiled. “How are you feeling?”
Dragon’s claws, she was beautiful. “Uh, all right. I didn’t know piaua burned.” He glanced down. His wounds were gone. Thin pink lines ran from below his collar bone, down across the right side of his chest. “That’s incredible. I thought I felt you stitching me …”
“I used bear’s bane so you wouldn’t feel much. By stitching you before I used piaua, we avoided ugly scars. I could have just used piaua, but it seemed a shame …”
She hadn’t wanted to mar his chest.
His gaze dropped to her fingers absently tracing the lines of his new scars.
Her cheeks tinged pink under his scrutiny and she snatched her hand away. He wanted to tease her and make her laugh. Nothing would please him more than flying through the skies on Erob with her in his arms. But he was her master.
Attachments led to betrayal. He’d learned that the hard way.
“Thank you for healing me, Ezaara.” He sat up, flexing his arms and chest. “I feel as good as new.” His shirt and jerkin were shredded. He pulled them off and cast around for something else to wear.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 14
