Riders of Fire Box Set

by Eileen Mueller

  “Good. Ezaara?”

  “Yes,” Hans mumbled, losing his grip on the stone as his eyelids closed.

  Revelation

  The sun would soon go down. Tomaaz could hardly restrain his excitement. Two days and he and Ma would be out of there. He left the beast’s branch of the valley, making his way south to get her rucksack. Tomaaz tucked his shovel behind a boulder and broke into a run. The cliffs were pockmarked with caves.

  Shards, he wasn’t used to running. Tomaaz slowed to a walk.

  Two guttural voices drifted toward him. Hiding in a short tunnel in the hillside, Tomaaz wished his pounding heart would quieten.

  “Her rucksack is not there. Where’s it gone?”

  “316 was with her. Maybe he took it.”

  “Slimy runty worm. Good that 316 is dead.” A tharuk chortled.

  Tomaaz pressed his back flat against the tunnel wall as two lumbering tharuks passed. He held his breath, poised to run in case one was a tracker.

  Their voices faded as the beasts went into the main valley.

  Phew! That was close. Heading up the ravine, Tomaaz took the branch to the right, counting the caves in the northern wall. There was the one Ma said she’d stayed in, slimy and damp. The tharuks had probably searched there. Three caves further … there, that was it. In the cave, behind a rocky outcrop, was Ma’s rucksack. Tomaaz slung the straps over his shoulders and made his way back to the main valley.

  But when he got to the boulder, his shovel was gone.

  Shards! Those tharuks had found it. They’d have a tracker here in no time. Unless they thought a slave had left the shovel on the way to the latrines. Should he go back and hide the pack, in case he was seen? Tomaaz eased his head around the corner, surveying the valley. No one was in sight. It was only a short run back to the branch that led to Ma and the beast. Should he chance it? If he didn’t take the pack to Ma now, he may not get another chance. Especially if a tracker was set loose.

  Keeping to the shadows cast by the hills, Tomaaz shot up the valley. His legs were weak and his breath rasped, but he made it to the side branch without seeing any tharuks. He pushed himself further, way past the bend, running until he reached Ma.

  He dropped the rucksack near the entrance to her cave. “Ma, I’ve got to get back before the tharuks miss me.”

  Her reply was drowned out by the rattle of a chain. The beast sprang out of its cave, blazing bright orange in the rays of the setting sun.

  Orange? Yes, and those were the same green eyes that had been peeking through the hole, watching over Ma. But how?

  A thrum ran through his mind. Warmth spread across his chest. A rush of energy enveloped him.

  The folds of what had been saggy gray skin by the creature’s side were now orange. They flexed and spread into wings. The beast was a dragon.

  The thrum turned into words inside his head. “Thank you for feeding me those berries, Tomaaz.”

  “I, ah—you’re a dragon.”

  “And you’re now my rider.”

  An image of him flying above Death Valley astride the orange dragon shot through Tomaaz’s mind. He felt like a mighty eagle soaring above the valley—free and powerful. “Whoa, that would be amazing.”

  “It will be, when we finally fly together, free of this hell.”

  “How can we get you out of here?”

  “You don’t have to speak, you can share your thoughts and feelings.”

  That’s right, he’d done this before while he was touching Handel and Liesar. “Like this?” With a whoosh, something rushed through him, making him want to dance and yell with joy. He approached the dragon, holding his hand out. The dragon bowed its head and sniffed his chest, butting him gently. Tomaaz scratched one of the dragon’s eye ridges. Its scales were warm and supple like worn leather. A rumble issued from the dragon’s throat, like a cat purring.

  §

  Marlies woke. Her head was clear for the first time in days. She sensed something familiar. Dragon energy? No, not in Death Valley. Unless … Slowly, she got to her feet and, leaning on the walls with her uninjured arm, made her way to the mouth of the cavern. For a moment she was blinded—it’d been so long since she’d seen daylight.

  Then her eyes adjusted.

  Tomaaz was outside, standing spell-struck before an enormous orange dragon. In her fever-induced dreams, she’d imagined a green eye staring through a crack in the wall. But no, she hadn’t imagined it. That green eye belonged to this bedraggled dragon in front of her son.

  She slumped in relief. They’d done it. They’d found Zaarusha’s son. She’d nearly died, but she’d repaid her debt to Zaarusha. Well, almost. She still had to get them all back to Dragons’ Hold.

  The poor thing looked half starved. Tomaaz had lost weight too. They were so absorbed in each other, they hadn’t seen her. They were imprinting. She shook her head. This was more than she’d ever dared hope for. Both of her children were dragon riders. Marlies swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, and blinked her pricking eyes.

  Perhaps she could help them strengthen their bond. Supporting herself against the wall again, Marlies went back into the cave to retrieve something from her rucksack.

  §

  Behind Tomaaz, Ma chuckled. She was leaning against the rocky face outside her cavern, holding something out. “You’re imprinting, Tomaaz. You may want to feed your dragon. Here, from my rucksack.” She passed him some dried meat.

  Tomaaz took it. Shards, it smelled good. The dragon’s nostrils flared and twitched. Its tongue tickled as it licked his fingers.

  “Tasty,” it mind-melded.

  “And here I was these past few days, thinking you were going to eat me.” Tomaaz laughed, really laughed, for the first time since Ezaara had left Lush Valley. So, this is why Ezaara had left. This inexplicable intense rush of feelings, this sensation that you could soar forever, this bond and feeling of rightness. This was imprinting. His chest swelled as if it would burst from happiness.

  “So, this is Zaarusha’s son,” Ma said. “What’s his name, Tomaaz?”

  The dragon’s green eyes regarded Tomaaz. “From now, I am called Maazini, in honor of you.”

  “He says his name is Maazini, to honor me. What does that mean?”

  Ma sighed. “I wish we could have taught you this when you were young, Tomaaz. When a dragon and rider imprint, their names share a common syllable, so he’s changing his name to match yours.”

  “I am grateful that you gave me clear-mind.”

  Tomaaz’s chest swelled with pride. This mighty creature was grateful to him. He rubbed Maazini’s nose.

  Maazini butted his chest again. “Hide your mother in my cave. I’ll keep her safe.”

  “Before you go back, have something to eat.” Ma held out some dried meat and an apple. “But be careful. Too much food might make you vomit.”

  Tomaaz bolted the salty meat, then finished the apple, seeds and all. He’d taken good food for granted all his life, but never again. “Here, let me help you.” He shouldered Ma’s rucksack and helped her through to Maazini’s cavern. At the back of the cave, Maazini’s chain was fixed to the wall. Tomaaz yanked at the thick links, pulling with all his bodyweight, but they held firm.

  “I already tried that, but all it did was chafe my leg.” Maazini snorted. “Did you really think you were stronger than me?”

  “No. So, how can we get you out of here?”

  “If I knew that, I’d be gone already,” Maazini replied. “I guess I’m stuck here.”

  “No! Pa’s coming tomorrow night. I won’t leave you behind.”

  “You might have to,” said Maazini. “A dragon never willingly sacrifices his rider.”

  §

  It didn’t matter how much Marlies slept, nothing lifted her bone-deep exhaustion. She nibbled on stale flatbread, but food didn’t really help much either. Doubt nagged at her. What if she never fully recovered from using piaua berries? As a healer, she’d treated people that couldn’t shake the e
ffects of sudden illness—people who dragged themselves through life without energy or vitality. She didn’t want to be like that. Pushing to her feet, she forced herself to pace the cavern and keep her muscles active. She needed a task, something to take her mind off her physical state.

  Her pacing took her past Maazini. Zaarusha had wanted her to rescue him, but unless they could get his chain loose, there wasn’t much chance of that. Perhaps she could pry one of the links open. Rummaging through her pack, she hunted for her knife, but it was gone. That clumsy tharuk had left her bow and arrows and food, but taken her knives and the calling stone. Where was the logic in that? Maybe it assumed she couldn’t use an arrow at close range. More likely it didn’t think she’d seen it hide her pack.

  Maazini lifted his head.

  There was one job she could get done while she waited here: it was time to face her past. She approached Maazini, laying her hand on his head so they could mind-meld. “Maazini, I am thrilled that you have imprinted with my son. May your bond grow deep and be long-lasting.” Like her bond with Liesar—who’d risked her life to help her and Hans flee from Zaarusha’s wrath. Marlies hadn’t seen her dragon for years, but she had no doubt that they were still bonded.

  “I recognize the timbre of your mind,” Maazini replied. “You seem familiar.” He cocked his head, gazing at her with solemn green eyes. “Have I met you before?”

  Only when he was a shell-bound dragonet.

  Zaarusha’s purple dragonet sprang to mind, floating dead in its translucent golden egg. Marlies gasped, yanking her hand off Maazini’s forehead. Oh Gods, had he seen? Would he hate her for killing his sibling? She shrank back, Zaarusha’s words echoing in her head: You fled—that was an act of cowardice.

  She’d lived the last eighteen years in hiding. Would she live the next twenty the same way?

  No, she couldn’t let cowardice color her actions—not anymore. Holding the image firmly in her mind, Marlies took a step toward Maazini and laid her hand on his snout.

  Seeing her memory of the dragonet’s death, Maazini flinched. “That was you!” His tail twitched.

  “Yes, it was me. I’m sorry I killed your sibling.” Marlies bowed her head, waiting for his wrath.

  “His name was Dyanmar,” Maazini said, his voice rumbling in her mind. “As dragonets, even when shell-bound, we are linked, sharing thoughts and memories, and having access to the memories of all our dragon ancestors since the First Egg. I sensed you through him.”

  “So that’s how you knew me.” The bitterness of her actions stung afresh.

  “Yes. My brother recognized your gift of healing, because he, too, was a healer. He saw a vision and knew your line was destined for great things. So, he sacrificed himself, passing his healing energy through the shell of his egg to heal you, so you could have children.”

  Marlies gasped. “He knew what he was doing? He willingly died for me and my children?”

  “Yes.” Maazini tilted his head. “Tomaaz reminds me of Dyanmar, but I can’t understand why.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. There’s something about him …”

  That wee dragonet had sacrificed his life to help her. She hadn’t murdered him. It had been his choice. The mantle of pain and regret that had nearly suffocated her slowly eased from Marlies’ shoulders.

  §

  Yelping, a man was cowering in the corner, a tharuk looming over him. Under his blanket, Tomaaz gripped his pallet, trying not to act, for Ma’s sake. The fabric ripped beneath his fingers. He thrust his hand inside, grabbing a fistful of straw, the ends poking into his palms, trying to restrain himself from leaping up to help. Then he sighed in relief as the tharuk turned away from the man, yelling for everyone to get up.

  They traipsed to the eating area and chewed their crusts of stale bread. Another day in the latrines. He was so exhausted, he could crawl back onto his pallet and sleep for a week.

  “If only I could lend you energy,” Maazini melded, “but I’m too weak, now.”

  “If only I could set you free.”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  Tomaaz didn’t reply. How could he? He’d been racking his brain all night and hadn’t come up with a way to free Maazini.

  “Get to work, you lot,” 568 bellowed.

  Slaves went to the tool piles.

  “You,” 568 bellowed again, pointing at Tomaaz. “Feed the beast. Now. Zens wants that beast soon.”

  Zens wanted Maazini. No! Pa was coming tomorrow night. If they left Maazini behind, he’d be doomed. Tomaaz plodded to the tool pile.

  At his feet was a thin saw. Its curved handle was hooked on the stem of a shovel. No one was watching. Casually, Tomaaz stepped on the saw blade and yanked the shovel handle, snapping the blade. He dropped the shovel, letting it clatter to the pile to mask any noise. Used to clumsy slaves dropping tools, the tharuks didn’t even look his way. Tomaaz bent to grab the shovel and tucked the broken saw end into his boot. At last, a chance to free Maazini.

  §

  555 stood before Zens, head bowed.

  555 was trusty, a lot better than his sneaky underling, 316, had been. Then, why wasn’t the prisoner’s rucksack where 316 had left it? Zens sent the image to 555 again—the image of the crevice he’d seen in 316’s mind before he’d killed him.

  “I checked there, sir. This morning,” 555 replied. “There’s nothing there. Just 316’s scent and some scuff marks.”

  Zens pried through the beast’s mind, but found nothing untoward. “A rucksack can’t just disappear!”

  000 shot him a mental message, “Perhaps another patrol member moved it. I’ll question them tomorrow morning. We’ll find it then.”

  “Good idea,” Zens said. “Now, I must get back to my new lovely.”

  000 guffawed, just as keen as him to unleash their new lovelies on Dragons’ Realm.

  §

  A young boy was working next to Tomaaz in the latrine pits that day. He was slow, stumbling under the weight of the dirt. Young, but so weak and wasted.

  “Faster,” 568 barked.

  The boy twitched, dropping half his dirt, then scrambled to get it back onto his spade.

  “Haul him out,” 568 called to Burnt Face.

  Burnt Face dragged the boy out of the ditch, bellowing, “Boss said, work faster. Do it.” The tharuk sent the boy sprawling into the ditch, then jumped in after him, raking his back with its long claws.

  Tomaaz bit back a gasp.

  Four gashes slashed the boy’s back, blood seeping into his ragged shirt.

  Dark spittle flew from Burnt Face’s tusks. “Get moving. Work faster. All of you.”

  Tomaaz bent to dig, keeping an eye on the boy. Whenever the tharuks’ backs were turned, he steadied the lad to stop him falling. Soon the lower half of the boy’s shirt was drenched in red. Splatters covered his breeches. Ragged breaths hissing from his chest, the boy kept digging. The tharuks ignored him, targeting other slaves.

  Tomaaz’s gut churned. Tomorrow he’d escape, leaving all these poor folk behind. Most of them would be dead within moons. It didn’t matter to Zens. He’d just send his raiding parties out to abduct more.

  If he got to Dragons’ Hold with Maazini, Tomaaz would petition Maazini’s mother, the dragon queen, to save these people.

  That evening when he fed Maazini, Ma showed him the chain. “I’ve sawed halfway through the metal loop that hooks it to the wall,” she said. “If tharuks come, Maazini will stop them from getting in here to check, and tomorrow, I’ll keep sawing. When is Hans coming?”

  “Sunset.” Had she forgotten already? He’d only told her yesterday. She was still pale, with dark smudges under her eyes. Her face was gaunt. Those piaua berries had knocked her about badly.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Maazini melded, sending a wave of affection through him.

  Feeling Maazini’s powerful emotions every time they melded was amazing, but it took some getting used to. Tomaaz rubbed the dragon’s sno
ut and went back to the sleeping hut.

  That night, Tomaaz was woken by whimpers. A puppy? He rubbed his eyes. No, he was in Death Valley. There were no puppies here.

  In the sputtering candlelight, he glanced about the hut. The boy who’d had his back raked by Burnt Face was huddled on his pallet, moaning, biting his fist so he wouldn’t make too much noise.

  The stomp of tharuks alerted Tomaaz to approaching guards. That was odd. It was taking them longer than usual to get here. A tharuk flung the door open. The whimpering stopped. Tomaaz shut his eyes as the tharuk strode among the pallets, then stomped off, slamming the door behind it. Tomaaz heard it laughing with the other monsters as they continued on patrol. He could hear them better than usual. Weird—unless imprinting had sharpened his hearing. Maybe it was possible. Pa had said dragon riders received talents from their dragons. Maybe great hearing was one of them.

  Breath hissed through the boy’s teeth. Moans racked his little body. Poor thing. Tomaaz pulled on his boots and made his way between the pallets to the boy. The littling froze as he approached.

  Tomaaz laid a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

  He flinched.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Tomaaz whispered. “There’s a healer in Death Valley. Can I take you to her?”

  No answer.

  The candle hissed and flared. The boy was terrified, the whites of his eyes gleaming.

  “It’s all right. I’ll carry you, but we’ll have to be quick.”

  The lad gave a sharp nod.

  Tomaaz scooped him up, careful not to touch his wounds, and cradled him against his chest. Starved, the boy was lighter than half a sack of carrots. Shards, what he wouldn’t give for a carrot now—or even a bite.

  Nudging the door open, Tomaaz peered outside. No tharuks around.

  He was halfway through the door when a guttural voice startled him. “Why are you creeping around?”

  Tharuk! Tomaaz froze, scanning the valley, but couldn’t see anyone.

  “Want to trade? You can have it for six rats.”

  Somehow, Maazini had sharpened his hearing. Much further along the valley, to the north, a door to a sleeping hut was ajar. Tharuks were inside talking. He hoped neither were trackers.