It stared right at him, a puckered scar under one of its red eyes. The beast’s nostrils flared as it stopped at Hans’ cell. It flexed its claws. “What’s here, then? A former dragon rider, I believe?”
Bill had known and sold him out.
“You know what we do to dragon riders, don’t you?” The beast’s top lip curled.
Hans had seen tortured riders, hands missing, with strips torn off their backs and feet, left to rot in Death Valley. No way, not him. He lunged, shoving with all his weight on the cell door. It swung open, knocking the tharuk backward into Bill’s cell door. The torch rolled along the corridor.
Hans ducked around his door. The tracker leaped to its feet, blocking Hans’ escape. Hefting his stick with two hands, he drove it upward under the tharuk’s chin. Blood rained over Hans. Impaled, the beast swiped at Hans, but the stick was too long, keeping its claws out of reach.
He pushed harder. The beast clutched at the wood, its eyes rolling back in its head. Black blood pumped from its throat. Soon the monster’s head lolled to the side and its body went limp.
Hans let go, kicking the beast aside as it hit the floor.
“What was that?” a prisoner asked, face pressed against his bars.
“That was how you kill a tharuk. Aim for their throats or the weak spot under their chins.” Breathing hard, Hans dragged the keys from his pocket. “Who wants to stay here and be slaughtered?” Silence. “Then will you help me kill these over-sized rats?”
Ragged cheers went up among the prisoners.
Hans unlocked the neighboring cell. “Release the others, grab some weapons, and meet me in the square.” Most of them would flee, but some might help. Any fighters were a bonus.
Hans grabbed the torch and ran along the corridor, yelling his instructions to all the prisoners, then raced outside.
It was mayhem. People were fleeing. Beasts smashed buildings and homes. The few villagers fighting tharuks were armed with only pitchforks or spades, taking wild swings at the monsters. A pot flew out a window, hitting a tharuk on the head. Shrieks of pain filled the night.
A burly figure thundered toward him, lit up from behind by a home engulfed in flames. “Hans!” It was Klaus, his face pale and streaked with black tharuk blood. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hans. I should’ve listened. Here, your weapons.” He threw Hans his scabbard and daggers.
Hans caught them, then whirled, drawing his sword to fight off a wiry tharuk. At his side, Klaus drove back a bigger beast with a bald spot above its eye. Hans feinted high. The tharuk looked up, and he drove his sword into its throat. No sooner had the beast hit the ground, three more replaced it.
Where were the blue guards and their dragons? Had they seen the beacon? With no way of knowing, Hans kept fighting.
§
There was a crash.
Tomaaz leaped off his bedroll, snatched up his weapons and threw his bow and quiver over his back. The front door was shuddering under the impact of—
Smack! Another blow shook the door in its frame.
Around him, people were rising to their feet, befuddled with sleep.
“Get to the center of the house,” Tomaaz called. “Hide the littlings. Fighters, mark the entrances—the chimney, windows and doors.” How had he come to be in charge? That was supposed to be Ernst’s job, or Pa’s.
There was a rush of activity behind him as people scurried around in the dark. Someone lit candles from the embers in the fireplace.
When the next whack on the door came, the floorboards shook as well.
Lofty and Kieft took the spots beside him, near the door. “There are six more at our backs,” Kieft whispered. “In case any tharuks get through.”
“What’s that stench?” Murray covered his mouth with his hand.
“Stand fast,” Tomaaz commanded. “Draw your weapons.”
A sharp crack came from his parents’ room, then the tinkle of shattering glass. Roars ripped through the rear of the house. The thwack of blades made Tomaaz’s knees shudder.
“Stand fast. Someone else has it,” he called.
A yell was cut off with a wet thump.
The front door shuddered again, then splintered, as a tree trunk smashed through the wood. Outside, there were raucous bellows.
Tomaaz sheathed his sword. Whipping an arrow from his quiver, he aimed toward the trunk protruding from the door. He’d only have one chance as the log was withdrawn, but a tharuk down was one less to fight. The log withdrew and Tomaaz loosed an arrow. A roar rang out. He nocked another arrow and let it fly.
Tharuks converged on the door. Tomaaz let one last shot fly, threw his bow across his back and drew his sword.
The door broke, showering the floor with wood. A piece smacked Lofty on the arm, then a wall of fur, tusks and claws poured over the threshold.
Tomaaz ran at them. A tharuk swiped, its broad furry arm bashing his sword aside. Tomaaz slashed at the brute. The beast swung at his head and he ducked, then counter-attacked. Fur flew. This stuff was like armor, thick and matted. He’d have to aim for a weak spot.
But the tharuk was a blur of tusks and claws, gouging and slashing. As fast as he blocked, the brute was there again, beady red eyes anticipating his moves. Tomaaz pushed himself harder, faster, driving the brute back toward the doorway, where more of their fighters had spilled past to battle monsters outside. He pursued the monster over the step. The beast stumbled, then drew itself upright, raising an arm high. Its sharp claws came down toward Tomaaz’s head. Tomaaz swerved, and the beast’s claws shredded the side of his jerkin.
Tomaaz swept in, driving his sword upward, under the tharuk’s descending arm. Surprise flashed across the tharuk’s face as Tomaaz’s blade sank deep into the beast’s armpit. The monster’s roar nearly split Tomaaz’s head.
He twisted the blade and dragged the sword downward, ripping a gash in the tharuk’s side. The beast collapsed, sprawled across the stairs, staining them with its blood.
Pushing his foot against the monster’s side, Tomaaz wrenched his sword free.
“Tomaaz!”
He whirled to face the chaos inside. Lofty was trapped by the kitchen table, holding off two tharuks.
Tomaaz rushed in. One of the beasts whirled and charged him. Tomaaz danced aside, striking at its neck. The beast flicked its head, its tusk catching Tomaaz’s blade and ripping his sword from his grip. Tomaaz backed away, his foot hitting the hearth as the beast dropped its head to charge. He had to think fast.
The monster careened toward him. He grabbed the stew pot off the hearth and smashed it against the beast’s skull, knocking the tharuk to the floor, unconscious.
Lofty was standing over the other beast, dark stains on his sword. He raised his eyebrows. “We did it. We got them all.”
Fallen monsters lay among the shattered debris. People huddled in corners. Inside, there were no tharuks left standing. “Good job. I’ll check the rest of the house. Meet you outside.” Tomaaz picked up his sword and went through the back of the house, checking the bedrooms. No more beasts inside, and enough adults to take care of the wounded.
He and Lofty rushed out to help those still fighting tharuks. Even outside, the stench made Tomaaz want to gag. Raising their swords, they plowed into the fight, stabbing tharuks in the back of their knees, in the throat, or under the armpits, wherever they were most vulnerable. Back to back, they fought, battling the tusked beasts.
With a squeal, a boy went down. Tomaaz sprang to his aid, driving the tharuk off.
“They’re getting away,” Lofty called, slashing at a tharuk that had a torn ear.
The beast laughed.
Tomaaz jerked his head toward the village. A black swarm obscured the road—another troop of tharuks were heading for the town center. In the distance, a flicker caught his gaze. Buildings were burning!
“Pa!”
“Go,” called Lofty. “We’ll take care of these!”
Tomaaz raced down the road, his heart thundering. If tharuk
s breached the prison, Pa would be trapped. He veered off the road, running between rows of corn, across fields so he wouldn’t be spotted.
Tomaaz was about halfway to town when he heard whimpering. He slowed. It was coming from behind a shed, so he crept along the rough wall.
“The girl, Lovina, where is she?”
Tomaaz froze.
It was Old Bill. There was a short cry, cut off by a slap. “There’ll be more than that, if you don’t answer now, boy!”
Lovina’s lash marks flashed before his eyes. Tomaaz drew his knife and ran around the corner.
“Don’t cut me anymore! Lovina’s at Ernst’s farm,” blurted a boy, being held by Old Bill against the shed. The whites of the lad’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight.
“You monster!” Tomaaz bellowed, running at Bill.
Bill flung the boy away, sneering, “And you’re the scum spawn of a dead dragon lover!” He ran off into the dark.
Dead dragon lover? Pa? Tomaaz’s heart lurched.
The sobbing boy crumpled to the ground. Tomaaz was torn. Should he chase Bill, look for Pa or check if the boy was injured? Sheathing his knife, Tomaaz knelt. It was one of the cooper’s littlings. “Is that you, Paolo?”
The lad gazed up. “Tomaaz?”
“It’s me. Are you hurt?”
“He cut my neck.” Paolo whimpered.
“Show me. Where?”
Paolo guided Tomaaz’s hand to a cut on his neck, about as long as his thumb, but thankfully, not too deep. Tomaaz ripped a strip off his tattered jerkin and gave it to Paolo. “It’s only a flesh wound. You’re a real warrior now. Here, hold this against it while we get you home.”
“I thought I could fight,” Paolo said, “so I sneaked out, but that bad man found me.” He sniffed.
“It’s all right,” Tomaaz said. “These tharuks are tricky, so I’ll get you home, but we have to be quick.” They slipped across fields toward the cooper’s yard, Tomaaz helping to keep the stumbling boy upright.
Suddenly, a light appeared. “Paolo! Paolo!” a woman’s voice called.
Tomaaz stopped Paolo from replying. “Quiet! Tharuks will hear you,” Tomaaz whispered. They’d hear his mother too. They rushed ahead, Tomaaz telling the woman to put out her lantern and keep her voice down. He explained what Bill had done. “Zens’ tharuks are attacking the township,” Tomaaz said. “Do you have weapons? People in your household that can wield a sword?”
The cooper’s wife clutched Paolo to her side. “Yes.”
“Then shutter your windows and bar the door and send who you can to help the village fight.”
As the cooper’s wife hurried Paolo to the house, Paolo begged, “Please, Ma, let me go to the fight.”
A keening wind drifted through the trees. Tomaaz glanced at town, so close, then back to Lofty’s farm. Bill was going after Lovina. He had to stop him. But Pa was stuck in prison. Or was he dead, as Bill had said? Shards, what to do? For an agonizing moment, Tomaaz was on the balls of his feet.
Then he raced to town. Lovina had Ernst and others to protect her. Pa only had him, and Pa might know how to save Lush Valley.
§
Tomaaz skirted around the main road to avoid the worst of the fighting. He ran past a blazing house and arrived at the jail, panting, the old burns on his legs throbbing.
The door was open. The guard was dead, throat slashed, his blood sprayed over the foyer. Sickened, Tomaaz entered the corridor and snatched up a blazing torch. Rows of cell doors stood ajar. He ran down the aisle.
So far, all empty.
Before Pa’s cell, an enormous tharuk was sprawled against a barred door, a piece of wood sticking out from under its chin, sticky blood pooling around it.
Pa’s wooden bed had been splintered, bits of timber scattered across his floor.
Tomaaz bent to examine the dead beast. So that’s how Pa killed tharuks.
§
With Klaus’ help, Hans had succeeded in rallying the villagers to take refuge in the square. They’d blocked off three entrances by piling furniture high and setting archers on nearby rooftops, but the monsters were still pouring in through the broadest street. While others staved off beasts with spears, Hans led fighters into the fray.
“Watch the tusks,” he bellowed, slicing an unarmored tharuk’s belly open.
“Look out for their claws!” Hans drove his sword into a tharuk’s eye. “Hit their weak spots.”
Around him, inexperienced fighters surged, some injuring one another while swinging at the brutes, but they hewed and cut their way into the enemy, desperate to protect their families.
Briefly, Hans wondered where Tomaaz was. Marlies. Ezaara.
Bodies hit the cobbles.
In the square, a couple of narrow alleys provided an escape route should the villagers need to flee. It was looking more and more like they’d have to. They were outnumbered, people falling like autumn leaves.
More tharuks kept streaming in. They had no chance. If dragons didn’t arrive soon, the whole township would be lost.
§
Lovina huddled under the bed with the littlings. Crashes and grunts rang out around her. A dead tharuk thudded to the nearby floorboards, making the littlings tremble. Bellows came from the room next door, then, little by little, the noise receded and the fighting continued outside.
“Can we come out?” whispered the smallest.
“The monsters might hurt you, so we have to stay and be quiet,” Lovina whispered.
The fighting sounded further away, now, but she’d promised to keep these children safe until their parents returned.
If their parents returned. She swallowed a bitter pang. Now that the numlock had lifted, her memories were trickling back. Strangely, the most distant ones had come first. The night she’d hidden in a closet while tharuks had ransacked their village looking for slaves. Da had not come back that night, and she and Ma were captured.
Arms around the littlings, she waited in the dark under the bed, trying to remember what had happened to her ma, but that memory was still shrouded in fog.
There was a clunk. Lovina’s muscles tensed. Another clunk—the bump of wood on wood.
Was that a window flapping in the wind? She couldn’t remember opening one, but with fighting going on, maybe someone else had. Perhaps she should close it in case a tharuk climbed in. Lovina waited, the window bumping softly against the sill a few more times.
Lovina eased her head out from under the bed. Oh, no: worn brown boots with tarnished buckles. Her heart froze. They were Bill’s.
Bill grabbed a clump of her hair and pulled. Lovina resisted, clinging to the leg of the bed, but he yanked harder. A chunk of her hair ripped out, pain searing her skull. He grabbed another handful and yanked again, smashing her face against the frame of the bed. One of the littlings grabbed her legs.
Gods, no! If they hung on, he’d see them, hurt them too.
“It’s all right, Bill,” she gasped. “I’m coming out.” Oh gods, don’t let Bill think that was too easy and get suspicious. She shook her leg, getting the littling to let go, then clambered out.
Bill’s eyes shone yellow in the candlelight.
Lovina cringed. She couldn’t help it. Swayweed made him meaner.
He dragged her toward him by the hair, forcing her into a chair. He leaned over, his face in hers.
“What did I promise I’d do, if you ever ran away again?” Bill’s breath made her eyes water. “What did I say?”
Last time, she hadn’t got far. “B-break …” Lovina swallowed, unable to finish. She’d asked Ernst and Ana to help her get out of Lush Valley, but with Bill in jail, they hadn’t thought it necessary. Why hadn’t she left? Tomaaz’s face flashed to mind. Where was he now? Nowhere. No one was ever there—except Bill.
“What did I tell you?” Bill asked, quiet menace in his voice.
Lovina hung her head.
The littlings shuffled under the bed.
“Um, ah …” She spoke loudly, so Bill c
ouldn’t hear them. “You said you’d break my bones.”
His smile wasn’t kind. “Good. You remembered. Now, let’s get on with that. I’d hate to break my promise.” Bill laughed at his own pun. Tying a length of rope around Lovina’s wrist, he shoved her toward the open window. “I’m taking you somewhere we won’t be disturbed. And if you make a peep, I’ll be back to kill one of those stinkers under that bed.”
Dread wormed through Lovina.
Bill picked Lovina up. For the sake of the littlings, she didn’t struggle. He threw her out the window and jumped to the ground beside her. Stuffing a gag in her mouth and yanking her rope hard, he led her toward the trees by the river.
Turning Point
Panting, Tomaaz stopped outside Lofty’s house, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Ana and Ernst were tending the wounded where they lay. Others were still fighting tharuks in the neighboring fields.
“Where’s Lovina?” he called.
“Safe inside,” Ana answered, cleansing a gash in a man’s shoulder.
“Did you fight Bill off?”
“Bill?” Ernst’s shaggy eyebrows drew into a frown, as he cut a strip of bandage with his knife. “He’s in jail, not here.”
Tomaaz burst into Lofty’s home and snatched up a candle. Muffled sobs came from Lovina’s bedroom—the littlings’ room. He dashed down the hallway and pulled the door open.
A dead tharuk lay on its side, in pooling blood. The bed was rumpled and a chair was overturned. A window flapped in the breeze. Maybe the sobbing had come from the next room. About to close the door, Tomaaz heard someone choking back a gasp.
He scrambled to his knees and lifted the bedding. Under the bed, Lofty’s three littling brothers were squeezed hard against the wall, faces tear-streaked. “Hey,” he called, setting the candle on the floor. “Come here, boys.” He reached under and pulled them out.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 43
