“Focus,” Ernst called.
He tried again and again, trying to block out Ernst’s loud noises. A girl shrieked. Tomaaz jumped to his feet, sword drawn.
Ernst held his hands above a girl sitting cross-legged on the ground. “It’s all right, everyone. I just tapped her while her eyes were shut.”
Laughter broke the tension.
“Now,” said Ernst, “get back to fighting, but try and fight with the image in your minds, as if your life and loved ones depend on it.”
Ernst took the first group of knife-throwing candidates outside, and Tomaaz stepped up to fight one of the girls, the tree firmly fixed in his head.
§
For a week, Tomaaz’s home had been full of people every evening, all heeding Ernst’s advice. Pa had predicted a tharuk attack within three days of the beacon fire. Disbelievers now had even more reason to jeer at him, but Pa had impressed upon Tomaaz, Ernst and Lofty that it was only a matter of time, so every space inside was spoken for. Tomaaz had given the beds to older couples, and the living area and hallway were full of bedrolls and blankets. Littlings jumped over people’s legs, excited at so many people gathering.
Tomaaz approached Torston, one of the men cooking. “Could I get you more vegetables for that stew?”
Torston gave him a knowing glance. “We don’t need them, son, but if you need some fresh air, how about taking some bread to Lofty?”
Tomaaz left the house and wandered toward the road, away from Lofty and the other perimeter guards. He didn’t need Lofty’s joviality or jokes tonight, just a bit of time to clear his head. The last twelve days had been a whirlwind: Pa nearly burned at the stake and being thrown in jail; Ma gone, perhaps in danger; Lovina’s awful injuries; and Ezaara … shards, he missed his twin sister.
In the field near the roadside, the carrot tops feathered in the breeze. Tomaaz stared at the sunset’s golden light playing on the greenery, losing himself for a moment.
Footsteps crunched along the gravel road. A figure was approaching, dressed in baggy breeches—a slim woman in men’s clothing. Something about her seemed familiar, but with the sun at her back, he couldn’t see her features.
She drew level and turned to him, her thin face tinged by the sunset glowing off the Grande Alps. The evening breeze tickled its fingers through her brown hair. Her eyes were blue and she had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her baggy breeches were rolled up and she was wearing an over-sized boy’s jerkin. It was only as she nervously lifted a scarred hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear that Tomaaz recognized Lovina.
He gazed at her mutely.
“I, ah …” She froze for a moment, eyes wild like a trapped rabbit, and then spun to go.
Tomaaz took her hand. Shock registered on both of their faces. They stood a few paces apart, he holding her hand and she, startled, staring at him.
He released her, his breath escaping. “Don’t go!” he whispered. Had he scared her?
She nodded, waiting.
“Lovina, I—” How did you tell a girl who’d been beaten and abused for years that you were dumbstruck by her beauty? A girl who hadn’t even trusted the people who’d tried to heal her. A girl who would need years to fully trust, if she ever could. His breath sawed in and out of him. The moment stretched, the tension in their gaze searing through him. “Lovina, I’m glad you’re here.”
She smiled, lighting up like a splash of water in the sun.
Last Stop
Crows were thick on cottage roofs on the outskirts of Last Stop. Marlies approached, her hair wrapped in a peasant’s scarf, a long dress over her riders’ garb and her rucksack hidden in a sack on her back with firewood poking out the top. Marlies adjusted the firewood. It was a flimsy disguise, but better than nothing. She had enough freshweed to last her a few more days, but she was still ages away from Death Valley. She’d need to find another way to evade the tharuks hunting her.
She kept to side alleys. Music filled the air, and laughter and merriment came from the center of town. Tharuks roamed the streets. Had everyone here grown used to the presence of these monsters?
Coming around a corner, she walked smack into a tharuk’s back. “Excuse me, kind sir,” she said with what she hoped was a Last Stop twang. She bowed, squinting in case it noticed her turquoise eyes.
The beast snarled through dribbling saliva. Its nostrils twitched. A tracker.
Marlies kept her head down, subservient and bowed over under the firewood. Her heart hammered. She thanked the Egg for freshweed, hoping hers was still effective. This was not the place to pick a fight.
“Doesn’t look like the female,” muttered another tharuk to the tracker she’d banged into.
The tracker deliberated, sniffing the air.
It was surprising it could smell anything other than tharuk stench.
“It’s tall enough, but it doesn’t smell right,” the tracker concluded.
“Move on.”
Relief flooding her, Marlies moved past.
“Not so fast.” A thin tharuk with black eyes stepped out from a bakery next to a cobbler’s shop, blocking her way. “Where are you heading?”
Shards! A mind-bender. Marlies kept the cobbler’s store foremost in her mind. “Need new shoes for my boy, sir,” she answered, head down. She pulled an image of Tomaaz’s face into her mind, as he’d looked when he was four.
“And the wood?” barked the mind-bender.
She could feel the mind-bender pushing at her thoughts, making her head spin. “To sell, sir, in the square.” Not knowing what the square looked like nowadays, she kept the cobbler’s shop in mind, and the torn feet of a Lush Valley littling she’d healed last week—and her fear of tharuks, just to be convincing.
“Very well,” the mind-bender barked. “Get your weakling son some shoes.”
The mind-bender shoved her. She stumbled, righting herself, then ran into the cobbler’s shop. Marlies made a show of examining the shoes, then bought the cheapest littling pair in the store, fishing the coins out of her healer’s pouch.
“A healer?” whispered the cobbler, eying her pouch. “Rare nowadays.”
“Just an old pouch I found at the market.”
“I’ll trade you the shoes for a remedy. My wife has had a belly gripe for a week.”
Marlies glanced at the tharuks loitering outside. Was he a spy? Would he sell her for a reward?
“Please,” he pleaded.
She’d taken a healer’s oath. How could she refuse? Marlies slipped him a measure of koromiko. “Cook this in water and have her drink the tea,” she whispered. “Thank you for the shoes,” she added loudly.
“My pleasure,” he said. Then, making a show of polishing the shoes, he whispered, “Stay at The Lost King, in the square. I’d get a room now before it fills up for the harvest festival.”
The Lost King? Was that some oblique reference to Syan, Zaarusha’s dead mate? Or even Yanir, his rider? It might be possible. Last Stop had been named after Anakisha. On the way to her final battle, she’d stopped here, for reasons unknown. After her death, the villagers had renamed the town. Nodding, Marlies swallowed a lump in her throat and hurried outside, past the tharuks, now questioning other travelers. She made her way deeper into town through the throng of merrymakers in costumes and festive clothing. With so many tharuks here, why hadn’t the villagers lit their beacon fire? She scanned the sky. No sign of dragons.
The square was a hubbub. Marlies picked her way past people dancing in time to musicians playing gittern and drums, and around pigs on spits, their fat hissing as it dripped into the fire. Scanning the square, she found a faded plaque, The Lost King, on an old stone building covered in ivy. Her first instinct was to avoid it, in case the cobbler betrayed her, but there were no tharuks near it, so maybe the cobbler was trying to help. She wound her way through the crowd. Hawkers called out, selling toys, sweets, crafts and stacks of firewood. Littlings ran through the square, playing duck and chase. Merry punte
rs at trestle tables with tankards of ale laughed and slapped each other on the back. In a pit of sawdust, a wrestling match was in progress, the crowd cheering the winner on. There were so many people. Life in Lush Valley had been so very quiet.
Outside The Lost King, Marlies stopped a mother with a gaggle of barefoot children and discreetly gave her the shoes. She pushed the door open, and walked between strongwood tables toward a brown-haired young woman washing tankards.
The girl, not much older than Ezaara, finished drying a glass and greeted her. “Good evening, do you need a room for the night?”
There was something strangely familiar about the girl’s face. “Yes, just one night, thank you.”
Three tharuks burst into the taproom, the drumbeats from the square gusting in with them. “Beer, now!” one bellowed.
“Right away,” the girl responded, drawing three tankards of beer from a barrel.
The beasts sat at the bar, their backs to Marlies. She retreated to an alcove at the side of the room to wait.
Soon the girl joined her. “I’m Kisha,” the girl said, reaching her hand out to shake Marlies’.
Had she just flashed the sign of a dragon friend? Or was Marlies being fanciful, mistaking that quick flick of Kisha’s fingers for something it wasn’t? When extending her own hand, Marlies made the answering sign, and the girl nodded.
“You’re in luck,” she said. “We have two rooms left upstairs.” She ushered Marlies to the second floor, a finger against her lips, pointing at some of the rooms. Dragon’s teeth, tharuks must be staying here. “There’s a tub in your room. Would you like a bath? And a meal brought to your room?”
Marlies smiled. “That would be lovely.”
Kisha ushered her inside. “Make yourself at home.” She left to fetch pails of hot water.
Once Kisha had filled the tub, she pointed to the bolt on the inside of the door, indicating that Marlies should lock it, and left.
Marlies checked the window. If she needed to, she could drop to the square and make a run for it. She stripped off and dunked herself in the warm water. It was tempting to relax and let her worries soak away, but she couldn’t, not with tharuks downstairs. Although the festival was still going strong outside, a trickle of unease slid down her back. So, Marlies scrubbed herself, changed into fresh small clothes and pulled on her riders’ garb and peasant dress, rubbing the grubby spots with a rag. She was done in less time than it took Tomaaz to wolf down a meal.
Someone knocked. “It’s Kisha with your dinner.”
Thank the Egg, it hadn’t been a tharuk. She slid the bolt open. “Come in.”
Kisha passed her a plate of bacon, eggs and thick slabs of cheese with bread. Marlies sank onto the edge of the bed, more than ready to eat, then sleep.
Kisha slid the bolt. “We must talk.” Her eyes flicked to Marlies’ healer’s pouch. “Do you know the remedy for limplock?”
“Why?” Marlies narrowed her eyes. Limplock was one of Zens’ poisons. Fatal. She’d had more than one dragon rider die before she’d learned how to combat it. “Has someone been poisoned?”
Kisha shrugged, waiting, so Marlies answered, “A blend of herbs and minerals combats Commander Zen’s vile poison.”
“And how does that blend look?”
“Yellow granules,” Marlies replied. Years ago, she’d developed the remedy, but— “Why are you smiling?”
“Are you the Master Healer from Dragons’ Hold?”
Marlies swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. She’d never thought she’d ever be addressed as Master Healer again. Who was Kisha? Was she working for tharuks? A spy? Within a moment, Marlies’ plate was on the bed and her dagger was at Kisha’s throat. “Who are you? Tell me why you want to know.” Shards, she should have laughed it off. Now she’d given it away. It had been so many years since she’d played this game—she was making too many mistakes.
Staying cool, Kisha murmured, “My grandmother was Anakisha.”
So that’s why she’d looked familiar. Marlies sheathed her dagger. “My apologies.”
“Mine too. Years ago, my grandmother told me that there would come a day when she would depart to the great flying grounds beyond. May she soar with departed dragons.” Kisha pulled up a chair and sat while Marlies continued her meal. “She came to visit my mother and me before her final battle.”
Marlies inhaled sharply. “So, you’re the reason she came to Last Stop? Why?”
“Anakisha had a vision. She told me that when I was older, you would visit me. She said to question every healer who came here, asking whether they knew the limplock remedy.” Kisha chuckled. “Most of them had no idea what I was talking about. Anakisha told me your name was Marlies, that you would come in a dire time. She mentioned your turquoise eyes.”
Marlies’ jaw dropped. Zaarusha must’ve known some of this. A dragon and rider didn’t often keep secrets. Then again, maybe not. The Queen’s Rider, Anakisha, had used the gift of prophecy, but not Zaarusha—unlike Hans and Handel, who both had visions.
Kisha drew a small piece of folded leather from her pocket. “This is from Anakisha. I’ve kept it all these years, since I was a littling.” She passed it to Marlies.
Marlies unwrapped it to reveal a jade ring engraved with whorls.
“She said that if you were ever stuck in a dire situation, to rub the ring and say my name, Kisha. I hope it helps you one day.”
“What does it do?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never used it. My grandmother emphasized the danger in using this ring too often. It’s for emergencies only.”
Marlies tucked the ring in her breast pocket and hugged Kisha. “Thank you. I loved your grandmother very much.”
Kisha blinked several times. “Me too. Where are you going?”
The more Marlies told Kisha, the more danger Kisha would be in if tharuks questioned her, so she kept her answer vague. “Across the Flatlands.”
Kisha’s eyes lit up. “We have a wagon doing deliveries in the Flatlands tomorrow. We can help you across.”
Marlies hesitated. Would she drag the driver into danger?
“Our driver is experienced in avoiding tharuks,” Kisha added.
Better than going on foot. “I’d love a ride, then,” Marlies replied.
A tharuk bellow came from the taproom, “More beer!”
“Sleep well.” Kisha rushed from the room. “See you in the morning.”
After finishing her meal, despite the loud festivities outside, Marlies fell asleep. It was far from restful; she twitched and turned at every sound, dreaming of tharuks stalking her through The Lost King.
§
476 limped into Last Stop as dawn dragged its bloody claws across the sky. His crow alighted on his outstretched arm and showed him faces and scents of travelers who’d entered the village from the south yesterday. One caught his attention.
“That one,” he said, seeing the crow’s memory of a tall woman who was wearing boots under her peasant dress, instead of shoes or sandals.
It had been following large bootprints before the fire in the gum trees. This female had large feet—and no strong scent. Her head was wrapped in a peasant’s scarf and she was carrying a sack of firewood—a sack large enough to hide something. 476 had to find her.
His crow perched on his shoulder, 476 tromped through the alleys toward the square. Spotting a troop of tharuks who were slumbering off beer—from the smell of their stinking breath—he roused a small one with a kick.
“Who is your overseer?” 476 snarled, spit flying off its broken tusk.
The small tharuk nudged a larger beast and it scrambled to its feet. Upon seeing 476’s broken tusk, this overseer practically bowed.
476 smirked. There was value in having a reputation. “You seen this female?” he barked. His crow hopped onto his outstretched arm and let the overseer touch its head and mind-meld. Behind it, the troop rose to their feet, at the ready.
The overseer motioned a mind-bender
forward to touch the crow.
Black eyes gleaming, the mind-bender said, “It’s that female what wanted shoes. Let’s visit cobbler.”
§
Bloodcurdling growls woke Marlies. Leaping out of bed, she hastily fastened her sword belt and palmed her dagger, listening. Another growl came from below her window. Marlies twitched back a curtain. Shards, she’d overslept, lulled by a bath, hot food and a soft bed. Tharuks were swarming the square, hassling hawkers, overturning stalls and holding villagers at clawtip. Thank the Egg, only a few villagers were about.
Thumping sounded on the wooden door downstairs. Doors either side of hers bashed open, and snarls filled the hall. “She’s here, somewhere,” a tharuk roared. “Search!”
She had to leave to protect Kisha. Marlies threw on her rucksack. Sliding the window up, she clambered onto the sill, holding on to the lintel. Should she jump?
There was no way down. Cries rang out. Poised on the window ledge, Marlies had nowhere to go except sideways. The ivy smothering the inn was going to make it hard work. Her hands gripping the tiny crevices between the stones, Marlies edged along the building, picking her way around the leaves—until her foot got tangled in a vine. Nearby, a growl rumbled. Shards! A tracker was harassing a man right below her. If she dropped ivy leaves, it’d see her. Heart pounding, Marlies extricated her foot from the vine.
Reaching her arm around the wall, she found a handhold around the corner. As she swung her leg around, her rucksack threatened to drag her off the building. She grabbed another handhold, but her foot hit a piece of loose stone, dislodging it. The chunk of stone crashed to the ground, narrowly missing a littling. The boy stared up at her, opening his mouth to shriek. Marlies smiled at him, frantically shaking her head. Wide-eyed, he snapped his mouth shut.
Marlies nipped along the wall, hand over hand, making her way along a narrow alley. Her arms were burning and her legs shaking, but if she could just get around the next corner, she’d be above the stable yards at the rear of the inn.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 40
