Riders of Fire Box Set

by Eileen Mueller

  Moments later, he was back with four littlings. Pitifully thin and hollow-eyed, they were about four to six years old. Littlings—slaving for Zens. The eldest had a festering lash mark on her cheek. Faces slack and expressionless, they were victims of numlock, wasted and broken.

  What were they doing here? Did Zens want him to test them too? Well, he wouldn’t.

  “Place your hands upon that man’s temples, Roberto. Extract the information.”

  “No.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll kill this girl.” Zens gestured to the blank-faced littling with the lash mark.

  It was an empty threat to bully him into submission. Roberto lunged for Zens’ knife. “I’d rather kill myself than help you.”

  Tharuk 000 leaped between them and grabbed Roberto, tossing him against the stone wall, smacking his shoulder. That hurt.

  “First, the girl. We’ll see if he cooperates afterward.” Although Zens was mind-melding with 000, his voice slithered into Roberto’s skull, battering him from the inside. “Remember, Roberto, this was your choice. Now, she’ll die, and it’s your fault.”

  That’s why the littlings were here. As hostages, to get him to cooperate. “No! Don’t! I’ll do anything you—”

  000 raked its claws across the girl’s throat. For a moment, her eyes flew wide. Blood welled along the gash, then spurted down her neck. Her mouth went slack and her head lolled to the side, eyes dead.

  “No!” Roberto screamed. Through his memories, Ezaara felt the scream rip through him, again and again.

  000 held his dripping claws to another littling’s throat.

  “Ready?” Zens asked.

  Numb with horror, Roberto stumbled to the rider. He placed his hands on the man’s temples and followed Zens’ instructions.

  Moons of Roberto’s life passed in servitude. Amato visited, flashing gleeful smiles at his son’s progress. Slaves died at Zens’ hand, Roberto herding them, broken and bleeding, into Zens’ cavern for mental torture—littlings, women and men.

  Ezaara’s gut churned with nausea. So young, only twelve. Roberto’s hope died. His resistance was gone, and he did everything Zens commanded. He was a shell, obeying his masters’ orders—almost eager for Zens’ approval.

  His subversion was sickening. Panicking, Ezaara dropped her hands from his temples and opened her eyes. Was this his horrible secret? Was Tonio right? Had he been a spy for Zens all along, only acting a role as master of mental faculties? Was Zaarusha right too? Had he been plotting to destroy her?

  Roberto looked at her with strange intensity. “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged.

  “Let’s continue. It’s not over yet.” His tone was flat, devoid of emotion.

  He was as strong as the waves pounding the shore, as beautiful as the sparkling ocean she’d first traversed, and as dangerous as the gargantuan dark creatures that lurked in its depths.

  He could destroy her.

  Her stomach churned. “So how …?” She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t unsee those awful memories. The desolation, the torture and pain.

  “How did I escape? Zens trusted me. It was his downfall,” Roberto murmured. “Well, he trusted his ability to keep me under control. I had freedom to roam Death Valley because he knew the swayweed in my rations and numlock in my water would keep me subservient. After a year of slavery to him, things changed.”

  He placed her hands on his temples and his memories cascaded through her mind.

  Roberto strolled through a horde of slaves, gloating at his ability to control them.

  Ezaara recoiled. This wasn’t the man she loved.

  “Zens stole people and turned them into drudges, enslaving them physically and mentally, breaking their minds,” Roberto melded with her. “I had less numlock than the slaves, so I was capable of some independent thought and emotion, but not much.”

  His memories continued.

  Roberto headed over the hill, coming out of the fog. His forehead prickled with sweat. He should go back. Zens could call upon him at any time, but he had the strange urge to explore. He trudged down the hill to a nearby valley, then over another hill. Something tugged him forward, further than he’d ever been since arriving at Death Valley.

  Soon he came to a grassy valley of wildflowers with a stream running through it. Salt beading his upper lip, Roberto stooped to drink. His taste buds zinged with life. Fresh and pure, this water stirred distant memories in his fog-shrouded brain. Water was supposed to taste like this, not like the foul stuff he drank every day.

  Scooping up handfuls, he swallowed greedily, drips running down his chin. He splashed his face, dribbled it over his hair, then drank again until his belly was tight.

  Sudden cramps wracked his gut. Stumbling away, Roberto vomited behind a bush and kept on vomiting until he was dry retching. He spat and wiped his face on some leaves.

  His gaze had cleared. Everything was more focused. The Terramites, the chain of mountains standing between him and the rest of the world, were pristine, snow-tipped and formidable, but his memory of life beyond those mountains was hazy.

  Shards, he wouldn’t drink Zens’ fetid stuff anymore—it made his head foggy. From now on, he’d have fresh water. Zens didn’t need to know. Taking the waterskin from his side, he tipped the tangy water out and rinsed it, then filled the skin from the stream. Ah, this felt good. He could slip out regularly and replenish his supplies. If he had to, he could alter the minds of those who noticed him leaving. As long as Zens or 000 didn’t spot him.

  Something blue flashed near the Terramites. A thrill ran through Roberto.

  It flashed again, closer.

  A dragon. Bright blue.

  Roberto stole a glance back toward Death Valley. He was safe. No one could see them here. A surge of energy ran through Roberto as he and the dragon imprinted, breaking the hold of the swayweed and numlock. He had to leap upon this dragon, leave Death Valley and never return.

  But Zens and Amato had threatened to kill Adelina if he left.

  A rumble coursed through Roberto’s mind, “Ah, Roberto, I’m Erob, named in your honor. You’re my new rider.”

  Roberto stared into Erob’s yellow eyes.

  A yawning pit opened inside him as he remembered his actions among the slaves. “What have I done? Who have I become?”

  “You’ve been a pawn in Zens’ hands, twisted by him and your father, but you can be better. Become more, ride with me.”

  A strange energy thrummed inside his chest. He could feel his heart again. And hope.

  But he’d been crossed by his own father. Maybe the dragon was tricking him too. “You think I’d believe you? Zens has helped me to become strong and powerful.”

  “Zens has shackled your true power, the power to lift mankind to a better place. Roberto, fly with me.”

  What if this was a devious beast trying to enslave him? Body trembling, Roberto fought Erob and the imprinting bond. “What about my sister? Amato threatened to kill her if I leave.”

  “I’ll take your sister to a safe place, then meet you here at dusk in ten days. Drink only the stream water. Don’t eat Zens’ food.” The dragon’s instructions blazed through Roberto’s mind. “Don’t let Zens test you mentally, or he’ll discover you’re no longer under his influence. Being a dragon rider is your true destiny, Roberto of Naobia.”

  “And if I don’t like this new life with you?”

  “I’ll return you to Death Valley.”

  “What if Zens suspects?”

  Erob rubbed his eye ridge on Roberto’s hand, and Roberto couldn’t help scratching it. “You could come now.”

  Amato’s angry face flashed before Roberto and he shook his head. “No, we must protect my sister.”

  “Here, take one of my scales. Eat a little each day. It’ll give your eyes, skin, and fingernails a gray sheen, like you’re numlocked, but you’ll need to act sluggish.”

  Roberto stopped his memories. Ezaara reeled. So much information. So much hurt.

/>   “Zens nearly caught me, but I pretended I had a belly gripe, blocking his probing mind with memories of nausea so he’d think I was too sick to eat,” Roberto said. “On the tenth day, when I went to meet Erob, tharuk troops were combing the hills, so I had to sneak to the foot of the Terramites. Erob sensed me before I saw him. Under the cover of night, we escaped. He returned me to my home so I could uncover my father’s treachery and bring him to justice.”

  “What happened to your father?”

  “He was banished at his trial, but escaped on his dragon, Matotoi, who he’d turned with swayweed after he returned. My mother wouldn’t tell him where Adelina was, so my father threw her off Matotoi’s back onto some rocks. She never walked again.” He stopped speaking, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “She died a few moons later.”

  Ezaara gasped. “That’s awful. Horrible.”

  “For a moment, my father was wracked with anguish that he’d hurt her. Matotoi felt his self-hatred, so he dived to the bottom of Crystal Lake, killing himself and Amato.” Roberto gestured inland, his voice hollow, lifeless. “It’s a short flight away, over those hills. Adelina and I used to swim there, but we haven’t been back. The villagers searched for their bodies, but they were never found.”

  Her life in Lush Valley had been paradise compared to his. No wonder he’d been so distrusting when she’d first met him. His father had murdered his mother. Sure, it had taken moons for her to die, but he’d killed her. And tortured Roberto and sold him out.

  If Amato wasn’t dead, she’d finish him off herself.

  “Ezaara.” Roberto’s voice pierced her thoughts. “I can’t return to Dragons’ Hold. I’ve been a traitor already, controlled by Zens, and I could fall again.”

  “You’ve turned your back on Zens once, proving you’re true. If he ever catches you, you can do it again. You can resist him.” Ezaara wanted to grab him and shake some sense into him. She hadn’t come all this way, risking her life and giving up Zaarusha, only to have him give up.

  Handel’s vision flashed across Ezaara’s mind: Roberto’s face twisted into a cruel mask, lunging at her. She pushed the image aside. She wouldn’t let that prophecy come true.

  “Tonio’s right.” Roberto ran a hand through his hair. “Just say, they let me back as a dragon master again—if Zens gets hold of me and the information in my head, he’ll learn enough to destroy the realm and its leaders.”

  “But you love the realm. You’ll weaken the leadership if you’re not part of it. No one has your mental talents. No one knows Zens’ weaknesses better than you.” She took his hand.

  He pulled it away. “I can’t go back. They think I was romantically involved with you. As a master, I’d be banished anyway.”

  “We didn’t do anything! I was treating your wounds.”

  “But you weren’t supposed to get off Zaarusha.”

  “I don’t care if they know. I saved someone’s life. Two lives.”

  “And endangered your own.”

  “So what?” Ezaara ripped a crust off the loaf and tossed it to some gulls that were wheeling and shrieking in the wind. They landed, squabbling over crumbs.

  “Anyway, they think I poisoned Jaevin.” Roberto uncrossed his long legs, scattering the birds.

  “We know you didn’t. There’s a traitor at large at Dragons’ Hold. If we don’t find them, they may strike again. They may have already.”

  “No, they’re better off without me, and so are you.”

  Ezaara threw her hands up. “Roberto, can’t you see? I love you. I want you by my side.”

  “I’m not fit for you. You could do so much better. Besides my past with Zens, I’m a broken man. Even Erob tells me I don’t trust enough.”

  “True,” Erob interjected.

  Roberto raised an eyebrow and gave a sardonic smile. “See?”

  Ezaara took his hand again, rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “In time, you’ll come to trust me, despite what’s happened in your past. We can do this. Together.”

  He sighed. “I’m really not a fit companion for a Queen’s Rider.”

  “Well, then, that’s fine, because I’m no longer Queen’s Rider. I gave up Zaarusha to come and find you.”

  His eyebrows flew up. His jaw dropped. “You gave up the queen for me?”

  Ezaara nodded.

  A tear ran from Roberto’s eye. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “You did that? For me?”

  She stroked her finger along the track of his tear. “Yes, for you, Roberto of Naobia. You’re worth it. But don’t make me return alone.”

  §

  Roberto was filled with a thousand swirling colors. Ezaara had chased away his darkness. She’d glimpsed the horror of his past and loved him anyway. We can do this together, she’d said. And he believed her.

  “How can you want me, when you’ve seen what I’ve done?” His scarred cheek twitched where Pa had whipped him.

  Her smile was like sunrise after a long night.

  “With me no longer a master, and you no longer Zaarusha’s rider, I don’t know how we’re going to get anyone to listen to us.” Roberto sighed. It was worth a try. “If we’re going back, it’s time to hone your mental talents. I’ve designed training to help our riders beat tharuk mind-benders, but the council haven’t let me test the training on my students yet.”

  “Why?”

  “There are one or two masters who are resistant.”

  “Let me guess. Tonio?”

  “No, he’s for it.” The spymaster was reasonable, except for his prejudice against him. Mind you, with his history, Tonio had reason. And someone had poisoned Jaevin …

  “Roberto?” Ezaara jolted him back to the present. “What’s a mind-bender?”

  “Some tharuks can shape your thoughts, emotions or actions. They’re called mind-benders. You can block them by keeping a fixed picture in your mind. The more detailed the image, the better. Picture something now, and I’ll try to bend your thoughts.”

  Ezaara closed her eyes. There were dark circles under them. She was exhausted. The days in Robandi Desert hadn’t been easy on her either. In fact, not much had been easy for her since she’d come to Dragons’ Hold. Roberto placed his hands on her temples and accessed her thoughts.

  She was imagining a bay fawn, sitting in sun-dappled light in the forest. He pushed the image away.

  “More detail, Ezaara. Sounds, scents and sensations will all help.”

  Startled, the deer flicked its ears and raised its nose to scent the breeze rustling the nearby leaves. Roberto tried to push the deer aside. Not bad, a solid enough block against an average mind-bender, but not solid enough for him. He punched a hole in her image.

  Flames danced in his head and heat rushed through him. He’d opened a floodgate. She was thinking about him—about how she felt. Shards! His arms ached to squeeze her against him, to lose himself in the touch of her lips, but he’d never be able to face Tonio with a clear conscience if he kissed her now.

  §

  “Ezaara, try again. Bring a little more life to it.” Roberto’s words floated through her. He’d pushed her image aside like a leaf in the wind. Oh, it had held for a few moments, before he’d shattered it.

  Fire danced in her veins. With him, she felt so alive. So full of possibility and wonder. Strong.

  He was only a hand span away, his breath caressing her cheek. Roberto closed his eyes, lashes dark against his olive skin as he slowly drew a deep breath.

  He was struggling for control too.

  His eyes opened and fell to her lips, lingering.

  Every fiber of her being screamed out to kiss him. It was now or never. On tiptoes, Ezaara stretched up and brushed her lips against his. A jolt ran through her being. This was so right, so—

  “No!” Voice hoarse, Roberto pushed her away. His face was tormented. “No, Ezaara.”

  Shame knifed through her. Oh, shards! Her face burned. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I just can’t.” Onyx eyes sad,
he grimaced. “If we’re returning to the hold, I can’t kiss you.”

  “But you’re not my master anymore.” Ezaara thrust her desperate emotions deep, managing to stay calm. “We’re free.”

  “Not if we’re returning, we’re not.”

  Ezaara wanted to throw herself on her knees and beg him for a kiss, but she could see conflict in every line of his body and hear chaos roaring in his head. Swallowing, she nodded.

  “Go on, Ezaara, try again.” Roberto urged her. “Use something you know well. Something deeply personal.”

  So, she did.

  §

  Shards, she was sly. Him, it was him. Seeing his own face, painted with the beauty of a skilled artist, made Roberto’s breath catch. She saw him like this? Where was his hardness toward his father? His anger at Zens for shattering his core? Where was the broken man?

  She showed him a face touched with compassion and admiration. A face that loved and cared and held human life precious. A face without the harshness he saw in his polished bronze mirror.

  She brought out the best in him.

  More reason not to kiss her now. To wait, and earn her love the hard way.

  Face radiant, she stared up at him. Gods, he was tempted. “Another picture. Choose something else.”

  A cottage on a farm, nestled on the forest’s edge, alps stretching to the sky. He shoved and pushed at the image, but it was anchored. It must be her home in Lush Valley. “Well done; try something different.”

  A tree, bark rough against her cheek as she hid from two boys below, hunting for her. Birds flitted through the branches, among rustling leaves. The scent of summer hung in the air. He tugged, pried, punched, but the trees and boys held fast.

  “Excellent. We can practice more on the return flight.”

  She stood. “We should get back and warn people there’s a murderer at Dragons’ Hold.”

  “Ezaara …” Roberto hesitated. Her biggest stumbling block could be her loyalty to her friends. “I suspect Simeon and his family may be involved.”

  He hadn’t anticipated the icy rage that flitted across her face. Her voice was deadly calm. “Whether the council accepts us or not, we can do better than warn them: let’s hunt that traitor down.”