Riders of Fire Box Set

by Eileen Mueller

  Lovina’s lash marks flitted to mind. No, this was nothing. He had to face his flight sickness with courage. Sitting up straight, Tomaaz opened his eyes. Trees loomed and receded as Liesar executed a tight spiral.

  He snapped his eyes shut again. Lovina was awake, watching him. He stifled another groan, not from nausea but from embarrassment. He’d fought tharuks, slain them, but couldn’t stomach riding a dragon.

  Her hand closed over his and she squeezed his fingers.

  Tomaaz couldn’t respond, his fingers grasping the saddle in a death grip.

  With a whump, Liesar was on the ground.

  After a few deep breaths, Tomaaz opened his eyes.

  Pa approached and patted Liesar’s hide. “Well done, girl, a lovely landing.”

  Right, absolutely lovely. Tomaaz swallowed, clearing the acid from his throat.

  “How did you like flying?” Pa asked, eyes shining. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  “Sure,” Tomaaz replied with fake enthusiasm. “Really great.”

  Lovina would know he was a hypocrite, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Pa that flying wasn’t for him. He’d go to Dragons’ Hold to see Ezaara, but he’d never be a dragon rider.

  Snowed In

  The wolf had left a few hours before dawn. Any longer and Marlies would’ve frozen on that ledge. Dark clouds scudded toward her, their swiftness taking her breath away. Snow was coming—soon. The wind picked up. She tightened her jerkin and cloak and tugged on her gloves, then leaned into the wind, making her way through the snowy drifts across the trail.

  Higher up, the wind howled and the snow drifts grew. She’d never make it to Devil’s Gate today. Still, if she couldn’t travel, neither could tharuks. Now, she desperately needed a place to hunker down.

  Around a corner, the trail widened. A snowdrift as high as her shoulder was piled along the mountain’s leeward side. This was as good a place as any. Taking off her rucksack, she retrieved a littling-sized spade. The Lush Valley blacksmith had made two of them for the twins when they were in their fourth summer. Shaking off a pang of longing for her family, Marlies dug a tunnel at the base of the snowdrift.

  When it was the length of her torso, she lay on her back and wriggled into the narrow passage. She dug, angling upward to create a level sleeping chamber that could be warmed with her body heat. Her arms ached after the ordeal with the wolf, but she kept digging.

  Thoughts of her family chipped away at her. Years ago, Dragons’ Hold had been a political thorn bush. Ezaara was so impulsive. Was she stabbing herself on those thorns? Would she fail as Queen’s Rider and be cast out?

  And Tomaaz? As a littling, he’d brought her lame rabbits, butterflies with torn wings and friends with scraped knees, begging her, with tears in his eyes, to heal them. Now he was older, more resilient, but if tharuks attacked Lush Valley, would they shred him with their claws? Or would their brutality shred his heart?

  She attacked the snow with her shovel. Her own desperation to have children had put her in this fix. If she hadn’t reached out to Zaarusha’s baby, hadn’t touched what was forbidden, they wouldn’t have been living in a sheltered backwater. Their children would have grown up at Dragons’ Hold, strong and prepared.

  Then again, if the dragonet hadn’t blessed her with fertility, she may never have had children.

  And she had.

  Marlies had never known Ezaara was going to become Queen’s Rider. In a moment of hope, she’d given Ezaara a name that had a syllable common with Zaarusha’s name, but she’d never dared dream it would happen. She pushed the loose snow over her belly and out of the tunnel.

  When Marlies scrambled out, the temperature had plummeted. Black cloud raced overhead. An icy blast hit her. She snatched up her rucksack and crawled back inside, dragging it by a strap. Marlies broke a fire bean and lit a candle, warming her numb hands over the meager flame.

  Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since before dawn, and was exhausted, but she couldn’t rest yet. She hollowed a shelf at the end of the chamber for her rucksack and sculpted the ceiling to prevent water dripping on her as the chamber warmed up.

  Unrolling a tightly-bound oilskin, she laid it on the floor and put her traveling quilt on top. Marlies chewed a piece of stale flatbread. She had more bread, some dried meat and a few of Giant John’s vegetables, but she didn’t dare eat those now. She needed to save them for Death Valley in case Zaarusha’s son was too weak to fly.

  With her sword, Marlies created a small ventilation hole in the roof. The weather still raged outside, but the thick layer of snow insulated her against the storm, so it was only a distant hum.

  Now, she’d talk to Hans. She took out her calling stone, rubbing it. The surface stayed cold and flat. Sighing, she burrowed into her quilt.

  Hours later, Marlies was still listening to the drip drip drip of water from the ceiling.

  She rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but it was fruitless. She was stuck again, helpless, not knowing what danger her family was in. Sitting here, she was unable to help Zaarusha or her captive son.

  Unable to repay the blood debt she owed her queen.

  Star Clearing

  A blizzard raged outside, drifts piling up against the cabin. They’d barely made it here yesterday with enough time to unload the supplies and bring in firewood before the storm had hit. The upside was not being flight sick any more. Well, that and Lovina not being cramped in a saddlebag.

  Pa had passed the time teaching Tomaaz and Lovina about Dragons’ Hold and dragon rider history. He’d even mentioned the many safe caves scattered throughout the realm, supplied with food and gear for emergencies. But Tomaaz was itching for action. Being cooped up inside wasn’t his idea of fun.

  Neither was fighting tharuks, although Pa was keen to teach him about that, too.

  “You’re right, Son. The best place to wound them are the vulnerable spots where their fur isn’t so matted, like their armpits, under their chins and behind their knees.”

  “Oh, and their eyes,” Tomaaz replied, whittling a stick before the fire.

  Lovina was in a chair, bundled up in a quilt, still pale and obviously in pain.

  Tomaaz lifted a pot off the fireplace and tipped some water into a mug, adding herbs. “This pain draft might help,” he said, setting it on a stump before her. “Just let it cool for a while.”

  She nodded, staring at the fire.

  Had he done something to upset her? Was it her injuries, or was something else bothering her? Over the last few hours, she’d withdrawn.

  Pa threw some onions into a pot with dried meat and herbs. “At Dragons’ Hold, we’ll eat better than this. You’ll be trained up and tested as a rider. If you’re lucky, you might imprint with a blue dragon and be called to the blue guards.”

  Him? Dragon rider material? Tomaaz doubted it. “Blue guards—like the ones now in Lush Valley?”

  Pa nodded. “They’re stationed in Montanara. A friend of mine was captain of the green guards in Naobia. Further to the west, there are red guards; and browns in the far north. It’s essential that we patrol our borders to prevent enemies from taking the realm.”

  “If we have all these guards, how did Zens get so much power?”

  “Zens is from a world with deep knowledge about how nature works, how bodies and minds can be controlled. He came through a world gate and began creating tharuks, sexless beasts, that he grows somehow, like we grow a plant from a cutting.” Deep furrows ridged Pa’s brow. “When I was on the dragon council, we had no idea how, but I’m hoping they’ve made some progress.” He shook his head. “It’s been twenty-five years since Zens arrived, and if we don’t defeat him soon, we never will.”

  §

  Lovina was sobbing. Pulling back his blankets, Tomaaz padded across the floor. He was halfway when the sobbing stopped. An unnatural stillness followed.

  Should he comfort her or go back to bed? She obviously didn’t want him to know she was upset, saving her tears for the mi
ddle of the night. The whisper of a tight inhalation—as if she was afraid to breathe—made up his mind. No one should live with that much fear.

  Approaching the bed, Tomaaz sat on his heels, his face at the same height as Lovina’s pillow. “I’m here. Lovina. You’re safe.”

  Another tight sharp gasp in the darkness.

  This might take time, and the fire had died completely. Tomaaz went back to his bedside and grabbed his shirt and jerkin, pulling them on. When he reached her bedside again, he whispered, “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes.” Lovina’s voice was so thin he had to strain to hear it.

  Tomaaz sat by her bedside, waiting for her breathing to relax into a normal cadence. “How long did you live with Bill?” he asked. Not that you could call it living.

  “Eight years.”

  So long—and they must’ve been nightmare years. But it made sense; they’d been bringing cloth to Lush Valley since he was about nine. “I’m glad you’re not with him now.”

  “Me too. Um …”

  He waited, but she didn’t finish her sentence. “How can I help?”

  §

  Help? All he’d done was help her.

  And she’d repaid him by dragging him out of his bed, so he could sit here, freezing in the dark.

  “Lovina, what can I do?” He spoke gently, as if she was a precious vase that might shatter.

  She wasn’t precious. Already broken, she was far beyond healing. She’d never be whole again—no matter how gently he spoke or how tenderly he applied his healing herbs. Tomaaz, with the future shining in his eyes, could never put the shards of her life back together. The Lovina she’d been would never be there again. Although she was free, the fragments Zens and Bill had left her in were worthless, best crunched underfoot.

  “Would you accompany me out back?” She coughed, embarrassed. She should go on her own; her legs weren’t broken, only her arm.

  A quiet chuckle escaped him. “Of course. Just let me grab some warmer clothes.” He pulled on the heavy cloak he’d worn when he’d gone outside for more wood.

  She got out of bed, and he passed her a jerkin, which she put on, leaving her arm out of the sleeve. He draped another cloak around her.

  “No!” she whispered, shrugging it off. “That’s your father’s.”

  “He won’t mind,” Tomaaz whispered in the dark, pulling the cloak around her again, and tugging the hood over her hair. “He’ll be happier if you use it than if I let you get sick.”

  Bill would’ve beaten her if she’d ever worn his cloak.

  The coarse wool enveloped Lovina, an unfamiliar but comforting embrace.

  “We might need these too.” He grabbed his sword and a couple of blankets and guided her past his father’s rumbling snores to the door.

  The two of them slipped outside into the snow, tugging the door shut behind them. The chill wind was like an open-handed slap to Lovina’s face. She pulled the hood closer against the swirling snow.

  “This way,” he said, taking her around the back of the cabin to the outhouse.

  Thankfully, he was here. The air was so thick with snow, she probably would’ve gotten lost if she’d tried this on her own.

  “Careful.” He took her uninjured arm, guiding her over a solid lump in the snow—maybe a log. Everything was indecipherable in this land of dark and murky white.

  It was a relief to finally get there and know someone was watching outside, and that she’d still be dry when she got back into bed—a luxury after sleeping on stone and dirt floors for years.

  Once she was done, they started back, Tomaaz wrapping an extra blanket around her.

  What were those shadows? They reminded her of—

  “Tharuks!” he whispered, close to her ear.

  §

  Tomaaz’s hand flew to his sword. Through dark flurries of snow, three or four shadowy figures were creeping up to the cabin door. The unmistakable odor of tharuk blew toward them. He couldn’t attack. He had to get Lovina to safety. His arm tightened around her shoulders and he drew her away, toward the trees. Pa was still sleeping, but he couldn’t go back for Pa. He’d made that mistake in Lush Valley. He could warn him, though. “Can you run?” he whispered in her ear.

  She nodded, and they dashed away from the cabin. Tomaaz’s boot hit a snow-covered stone. He lifted it and hurled it back at the cabin. It thunked on the roof.

  Tharuks snarled, loud enough to wake the dead. Now, Pa had warning.

  Tomaaz and Lovina raced off, snarls echoing through the trees behind them. At least one tharuk was following them. Thank the Egg, the wind was in their favor. The snow would erase their tracks, but the cold could kill them. Deeper into the trees they ran, zigzagging and leaping logs. Snow was falling in thick clumps. A roar penetrated the dark, but Tomaaz kept going, pulling Lovina after him by her good arm. She must be in agony, but, injured, she was no match for a tharuk.

  They plowed on.

  Dark shapes loomed ahead. Tomaaz slowed, placing a cautionary hand on Lovina’s arm as they approached. The shapes turned out to be boulders.

  “You shelter here while I get the tharuk,” he whispered, leaving her under an overhang.

  Lovina gave a mute nod.

  Tomaaz doubled back and hid behind a broad tree. In the eddying snow and blasting wind, it was hard to make out the beast until it was near. Its head was down, snout to the trail.

  Tomaaz waited until the beast had passed and, with the snow muffling his footfalls, struck from behind, jamming his sword into the back of the tharuk’s knee. The tharuk didn’t go down. It whirled, kicking snow in Tomaaz’s face, and slashed at his torso. Tomaaz struck it on the hand, then went for a low strike, aiming at the soft tissue of the beast’s belly. His blade bounced off armor. Avoiding the tharuk’s claws, he lunged, driving his sword up into its throat, and the tharuk dropped, face first, in the snow.

  The wind picked up, snow churning around him so he could hardly see, but finally he made it back to the boulders. Lovina passed him the blankets and he tied them around their shoulders. They were scant cover in a storm like this. Walking, he led Lovina, his other hand outstretched to prevent them from bumping into trees—or tharuks. What if there were more?

  Lovina, stumbled, yanking his arm, and went down.

  Tomaaz knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “J-just t-tired.” Her teeth were chattering, body wracked with shivers, and her hands were icy.

  Tomaaz held them, easing her to her feet. “There’s a cave around here somewhere, where the dragons are sheltering.” He had to find them, so they could help Pa. “Handel and Liesar can breathe fire to warm us up. It’ll be nice to be warm again, won’t it?”

  Lovina stared at him. “Do you know where the cave is?”

  “Ah …” She’d seen through him. His bravado leaked away, leaving him flat. “No, but our only chance of staying alive is to keep moving.”

  §

  It was like being in the clutches of numlock all over again: the gray obscuring her vision; the icy-cold nothingness inside her; the searing in her arm; the drudgery of one foot in front of the other, unable to think of much else. Right. Left. Step over a log. Right yourself from stumbling.

  The only warmth had been the hand clutching hers. Dragging her forward when she could no longer walk of her own volition.

  And now that hand was icy, too. Their blankets and cloaks were sodden, and they were chilled to the bone.

  Still, Tomaaz pulled her on. She knew why: if he stopped, they’d never get up again.

  Haven

  The gray of dawn gave way to a gray wall of rock that rose above the trees to their right.

  “There,” Tomaaz croaked, pointing at the pockmarked rock face. A flock of ruby swallows soared out of a cave, their underbellies flashing blood red against dark wings.

  Lovina didn’t even look up.

  His arm around her shoulder, they shuffled through the knee-deep snow. His shoulders sag
ged. Those caves were so close, but his legs were stone and feet were ice, making it a grueling task to get there.

  The first cave they came across was at ground level and far too shallow, with snowdrifts piled high inside. There were a couple of caves up high, but Lovina could hardly climb. Tomaaz scanned the sky for dragons. If only he was a rider and could mind-meld with Handel or Liesar.

  After stumbling further, there was an opening a few meters above them, half obscured by bush. It looked like there was a goat track to get up there.

  “Lovina.” Tomaaz peered into the cowl of her cloak. Her face was blank and eyes dark-ringed. “We might have found a place. Wait here while I check the track.”

  Her eyes darted to the trees. She nodded, hunching her shoulders and cradling her arm.

  Tomaaz checked for tharuks, then pushed himself to scurry up the short steep slope to the cave. Shoving aside the brush, he entered. Snow had piled to one side of the entrance, but not very far. The rest of the cave was roomy and dry. Reluctant to leave Lovina alone any longer, Tomaaz rushed back outside.

  She was gone.

  Dashing down the track, skidding and leaving brown gouges in the snow, he followed her tracks. Behind a tree trunk, a shadow moved against the snow.

  Lovina stepped out.

  “Gods, Lovina, I was worried.”

  “Sorry, I was sheltering from the wind.”

  Tomaaz laughed. “I’ve found a cave. It looks great.”

  For the first time since they’d run away from the tharuks, she smiled.

  §

  It was hard going, getting up to the cave. Lovina dragged herself inside, hoping to find some warmth, but it was bone-numbingly cold. It was dry, though. Her foot bumped something in the dark and she stumbled. She ran her hands over a rectangular wooden box. She tried to lift it, but, with only one good arm, the box was too bulky.

  “I’ve found a chest,” she called.

  Tomaaz came over. “Let me see.” He dragged it to the entrance, opening a bronze latch on one side. “Lovina, you’re fabulous. Look. This must be one of the safe caverns that Pa mentioned yesterday.”