“I’ll take care of them all,” Handel melded with Ezaara, letting Pa hear.
“Please do.”
Pa shot her a surprised glance. “You can meld with Handel, not just Zaarusha?”
“I can meld with all dragons.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Just like Anakisha. I’ll be back soon.” He slipped a jade ring from his pocket, rubbed it and called, “Ana.”
With a loud snap, Pa and Handel were gone.
Dread dogged Ezaara’s steps as she paced on the ledge. Below, dragons flew about their business, people harvested crops in the fields and gathered fruit from the orchard. Ezaara’s feet pounded out an anxious rhythm.
Roberto arrived. “Adelina’s got a few supplies ready in the infirmary, in case they’re injured when they return.”
He stood near her, but didn’t touch her. A dragon was flying past, carrying Lars, head of the Council of the Twelve Dragon Masters. Ezaara took a step back, distancing herself from Roberto. Lars mustn’t suspect a thing.
“If they return,” she replied. Ezaara’s chest ached. Pa didn’t stand a chance. She’d probably just seen the last of her family.
§
Golden clouds surrounded Hans and Handel, making Handel’s bronze scales gleam. Strange, Handel wasn’t flapping, just hanging in midair with his wings outspread.
“Last time, you were too sick to notice,” Handel said.
Anakisha appeared before them. “Hello, Hans. Someone must be in grave danger for you to be traveling with the ring again so soon.”
Hans nodded. “Marlies and my son are stranded in Death Valley. Marlies has been deathly ill.”
“Very well.” Anakisha’s eyes were sad. “Is Death Valley your destination?” Hans kept a picture of the hill north of the watchtower in his mind. “Here,” he said. “Thank you, Anakisha.”
Past Handel’s wingtip, a dark ripple moved through a cloud, like a fracture in an icebound lake.
A snap rang out. Anakisha and the golden clouds disappeared.
§
Hans and Handel appeared in the air with a pop, behind the mountain just north of the watchtower. Handel flew cautiously, zigzagging his way up the mountainside.
“Right, here is good, Handel. It’s only a short way to the top.”
“I’ll take shelter behind those rocks further down,” Handel replied.
“If you stay still, they may mistake you for a boulder.”
Handel snorted. “Me, a rock? An inanimate lump of stone?” As Hans dismounted, Handel blew a gust of air over his head, ruffling his hair. “You’re lucky that’s not flame,” his dragon huffed.
“That would definitely disrupt your disguise.” Hans chuckled, taking his bow and quiver from Handel’s saddlebag. “I’m good.” He scratched Handel’s snout. They’d fallen straight back into their old pre-battle banter. It used to help calm his nerves, but today was different—today he had to free his wife and son.
Handel curled up behind the rocks, his snout at ground level so he could peep around some stones.
“You’re right, Handel, you don’t make a fantastic rock, but if anyone gets close enough to see you, it’ll be time to fight them anyway.”
A mental snort was Handel’s only reply.
Hans picked his way to the crest of the hill and peered over the ridge. Like the other mountains along this end of the Terramites, there were unnatural rubble heaps on the top. Years, ago, Zens had started mining these hills. The rocks were probably the resulting debris. But why here, at the peak of the mountain? It made no sense.
A battle horn made Hans’ blood run cold. On the next hill, tharuks were swarming the watch tower, nocking bows and firing. More tharuk archers raced along the ridges. Below, in the valley, it was mayhem. Tharuks were shooting at the sunset, but their arrows were falling back to earth, some wounding their own troops.
Hang on, the tharuks were all firing at one point. Something orange that he’d hardly noticed against the blazing orange and gold sky.
It was a dragon. Carrying something in its claws. Something it nearly dropped, then grabbed again at the last moment.
“Hans!” It was Marlies, melding. “Hans, where are you? Maazini can hardly hold me.”
Hans used his dragon sight. The dragon was struggling to hold Marlies in its talons. A rider was on its back. “Fly for the rubble pile north of the watchtower,” Hans melded. “I’m hiding here. Where’s Tomaaz?”
The dragon pitched; Marlies’ legs slipped out of its talons. Gods, if she fell, she’d land in a writhing nest of tharuks.
“Handel, now!” Hans yelled, racing toward his dragon.
Handel unfurled, sprang into the air and landed nearby. Hans vaulted into the saddle. The mighty bronze’s legs bunched, and they were airborne, racing toward the orange dragon. “Meld with him, Handel.”
“I am. He’s exhausted, malnourished and limplocked.”
“Can he gain any height?”
“I’ve told him to try. If he drops Marlies, we’ll swoop in and get her.”
Shards. “Handel, can you fly faster?”
Handel beat his wings, hard. Hans’ hair was flat against his head as they raced toward the dropping dragon. Its wings were slowing. Marlies slipped.
She was hanging onto the dragon’s leg, dangling like a target beneath it.
Another battle horn blew. Arrows zipped at Handel from the watchtower. He ascended above them, but the orange dragon couldn’t.
“Can we get in low, Handel, and grab her off him?”
“Too risky. We’ll put him off and may lose all of them. He’s barely staying in the sky as it is. We’re going to have to guide him in.”
“Marlies, can you hang on?”
“Hope so.”
Belching flame at any arrows that came near, Handel flew alongside the orange dragon. The poor thing’s limbs were spasming and tail flicking erratically, but he kept flapping until they were near the rubble pile. Marlies curled her legs up as he glided over the pile, preventing them from being bashed on the rocks. Then she dropped, rolling down the slope.
The dragon landed near her, wings draped over the ground, sides heaving. Arrows bristled from his side, dripping limplock.
Handel landed upslope. “Maazini needs space.”
What was Marlies doing? She’d pulled Tomaaz and a boy off the dragon and was sending them uphill. Tomaaz sped up, carrying a lad so skinny there was hardly anything to him.
“What are you doing?” Hans asked her.
“If Maazini can’t make it, I want Tomaaz alive. Take him home, Hans.”
“No. Not your guilt again. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to pay for that dragonet. Marlies, come home.” Hans helped the boy up behind him. “Hold on,” he said, wrapping the boy’s bony arms around his waist.
“I told Zaarusha I’d save her son.”
“How? He can’t fly.”
“Don’t know,” Marlies said. “Something will come to me.”
Hans gave Tomaaz an arm up. He sat behind Hans, sandwiching the boy between them. “Pa.” He was skinnier and out of breath.
“Marlies, you fit on Handel, too.”
“He’ll never make it with four of us. Not that far.”
“I have a ring that helps me travel instantaneously between locations. A jade ring. Come with me. I’ll take you home.”
“A jade ring? I have one too, etched with whorls.”
Hans drew in his breath. Could it be true? Could there be two? He shared what the ring looked like.
“Exactly,” Marlies replied.
Before Hans had time to explain how the rings worked, Marlies yelled, “Hans, behind you!”
Hans whirled.
Tharuks poured from the rubble pile. The rubble must be a mine exit. They raised their bows. Some threw rocks.
Hans reached for his bow, but had to duck to miss a poisoned arrow. Handel sprang into the air.
Tharuks tugged at the rocks. With an ominous rumble, half the rubble pile seethed an
d crashed down the hill toward Maazini.
“Maazini,” Tomaaz hollered.
Maazini strained his legs. He flapped. He bunny-hopped. Rocks crashed into his hind legs as he struggled to lift off, then he was airborne, raining precious dragon blood on the heaving avalanche below.
“It’s now or never!” Marlies melded. She screamed, jerking as an arrow hit her arm.
Hans rubbed his ring. “Ana,” he called, staying melded with Marlies, providing her with a vision of Dragons’ Hold.
“Kisha,” Marlies cried in his head.
The two names formed a whole—Anakisha, the former Queen’s Rider.
Reunion
Ezaara paced in the infirmary. “Pa said he wouldn’t be long.” Because traveling with the ring held danger for the realm, she, Pa and Roberto had decided to keep the ring secret.
“It normally takes days of flight to get there,” Adelina said.
“Four days, actually,” Roberto mind-melded with Ezaara, before answering Adelina. “Hans will be back soon. He’s taking a shortcut.”
If Pa made it at all. Ezaara’s chest tightened. Hopefully he wouldn’t be alone. There was so much riding on Pa’s trip. If anyone messed up, she’d lose everyone she loved. Well, nearly everyone.
Roberto met her eyes. “Your pa has experience. He’ll bring them home.”
Ezaara masked her fears, hiding her thoughts. Until a few weeks ago, Pa hadn’t ridden a dragon for eighteen years. What if he made an error? What if he was too late? “Shards,” she said. “Where are they?”
“Dragon injured,” Handel’s voice was stronger than she’d expected. They must be close. “And riders, too.”
Who? Who was hurt? “Roberto, Adelina, there are riders and a dragon hurt.”
A whump sounded on the ledge outside the infirmary cavern, then throaty whimpers of an animal in pain.
§
One moment they were in Death Valley and the next they were floating above the clouds, awash in gold light. Maazini and Handel were suspended in midair without flapping, as if time stood still. A willowy transparent woman floated toward them and communicated with Ma and Pa, without words. Somehow, Tomaaz knew his parents were mind-melding with her.
With a loud snap, they appeared above a basin ringed with sharp mountains.
“Wel … come home.” Maazini melded, landing on a ledge below them, his wings drooping on the rock floor.
Ma slid off Maazini’s back and staggered into a gaping cavern mouth at the back of the ledge.
With a whump, Handel landed beside the orange dragon. Tomaaz slid down, racing to Maazini’s side.
The dragon groaned. His talons were curling in on themselves. His legs spasmed and twitched, and his tail thrashed.
Pa clambered off Handel and pulled the boy into his arms. The lad was bleeding. Probably an arrow.
“Tomaaz,” Pa said, “Ma’s getting Maazini some limplock remedy. I’ll take the boy to the infirmary, just in here. What’s his name?”
“I don’t know,” Tomaaz said. In the face of starvation and whippings, names hadn’t been relevant in Death Valley.
Tomaaz rubbed Maazini’s neck. “Hold on, Maazini. Hold on, we’re home.” His throat was tight. Maazini was slumped on the ground, his eyes glassy. His scales were losing their bright orange hue. Tomaaz sat near Maazini’s head, rubbing his snout. Instead of being warm, Maazini’s scales were cool. No! His dragon had turned himself inside-out to save his family. To save him. To help the boy. Tomaaz had endangered Maazini by finding Ma, by bringing the boy with them, by trying to help too many people at once.
“Never …”
It was just one word, and Tomaaz heard it. “Hang on. Ma’s a healer, she’ll know how to help you.” No answer. “Hold on, Maazini. I can’t lose you, not now when I’ve found you.”
Ma stepped up beside him. “Tomaaz,” she said, her voice taut. “Push his lip onto his tooth to open his jaw.”
Tomaaz snapped to his senses. He could help. Tomaaz pushed Maazini’s soft flesh onto his bottom fangs—hard.
Maazini’s jaw dropped.
“Now, feed him this.” Ma uncorked a vial and shoved it into Tomaaz’s free hand. He upended the contents into Maazini’s mouth.
“Not so fast.”
“Ma, your arm. You’re bleeding!”
She gave Tomaaz a grim smile and shook some fine yellow granules onto her own tongue, then passed him the vial. “Give him the rest of these.” She passed him the vial and two more. Then she used her knife to free the arrows from Maazini’s hide, wiping the poison from his wounds with a cloth.
“It’s too late for that, isn’t it, Ma? Most of it is in his bloodstream.”
Before Ma could answer, Pa rushed out of the cavern. “Marlies, go inside and let Ezaara tend to you. You’re in bad shape.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Ma squeezed Tomaaz’s arm. “Give him the other vials, a little bit at a time. Mind-meld with him. We don’t want to lose him.” Pa led her inside. Handel settled on the far side of Maazini, pushing against his side to hold his thrashing limbs still.
Tomaaz cast out his mind. “Maazini, come on, talk to me.”
Nothing. He swiped a tear from his cheek. Then another. “Maazini, we haven’t escaped Zens and Death Valley to let you die. You’re home, here with friends now. Your ordeal is over.” A sob broke from him. “You’re safe. Safe at Dragons’ Hold, Maazini … Maazini!”
Silence. Except for the hammering of his own heart.
Tomaaz tipped another vial, a bit at a time, onto the dragon’s tongue.
“Maazini, I can’t face it, not without you.”
A huge dragon landed, its scales shimmering with many colors. It nudged his arm with its snout. He placed his hand upon its head.
“Thank you for bringing my son home.” This must be Queen Zaarusha. “I am indebted to you, Tomaaz of Lush Valley. I’m calling more dragons and their riders to form a healing circle.”
“A healing circle?” Tomaaz croaked.
“It’s the best chance he has, along with that remedy for limplock.” Warmth and comfort flooded him as she spoke. “Keep feeding him that, Tomaaz, and meld with him. Hold him here. If he can hear you, he won’t want to leave his new rider. Help him stay strong.”
Maazini was anything but strong. Rubbing Maazini’s eye ridges, Tomaaz reached out with his mind again. Opposite Handel, Zaarusha nestled up to Maazini, holding his rear limbs still, although his tail still thrashed. She draped her wing over Maazini’s back, the tip touching Handel.
Pa returned, sucking in his breath when his eyes grazed Maazini’s pale gray scales.
Liesar landed. A tall man with dark hair and black eyes strode out onto the ledge. Moments later, a midnight blue dragon dropped to the ledge. The man nodded. “Tomaaz, I’m Roberto, and this is Erob.” He gestured at the blue dragon. “We’ve come to join the healing circle. Keep one hand on his snout and the other on my shoulder.”
They made a circle of dragons and riders, touching hand to wingtip around Maazini. The only sounds were the slap of Maazini’s tail on stone, and the hiss of dragons breathing.
“Stay melded with your dragon,” Roberto whispered to Tomaaz. He cleared his throat. “Let’s begin.”
Tomaaz searched for Maazini’s thoughts. Nothing.
There was a faint hum in his mind. Pa and Roberto had their eyes closed, deep in concentration. The dragons’ eyes were slitted and their focus was on Maazini’s head. For many heartbeats, they stood, silently touching one another.
Tomaaz’s fingertips tingled, then buzzed.
Then energy flowed up his arms, across his chest and through his fingers into Maazini. The waves grew stronger, pulsing through him to the wounded dragon. “Maazini, we’re here. Maazini, stay with us … Maazini, can you hear me?”
Suddenly, Tomaaz’s veins were burning, fire coursing through him, like when he’d imprinted with Maazini. He was no longer tired, exhausted, beaten down or
in pain.
Roberto spoke. “Pass your energy to Maazini. Feed him. He needs this life force.”
Tomaaz pushed the energy out of him, imagining a huge torrent like a river of fire flowing through his hands into his dying dragon. “Maazini, stay. Maazini, I want to fly with you, to go back to Death Valley and rescue those slaves. Maazini, I can’t do it without you.”
A faint peach tinge crept across Maazini’s scales. It was working. A strangled sound broke from Tomaaz’s chest; half sob, half laugh. Tomaaz fed more life force into his dragon. “Maazini?”
“To … maaz.” It was faint, but he was there.
Tears rolled down Tomaaz’s face. “Shards, I thought I was going to lose you. Hold on. We’ll get you out of this yet.”
§
Ma was sleeping and so was the boy.
“They should be fine for a little while,” Ezaara said to Adelina, glancing at the ledge outside the infirmary. Roberto had melded, letting Ezaara know they were using a healing circle for Zaarusha’s son. “Do you mind if I—”
“Go,” Adelina said. “I’ll keep an eye on them. It’s your brother, Ezaara.” She gave a tired smile, shooing her out.
Ezaara stepped softly to the cavern mouth. What she saw stole her breath: a ring of dragons and riders, joined at hand and wingtip around a pale-orange wounded dragon. But it wasn’t that.
It was the sathir dancing from wingtip to hand, coursing along the bodies of the riders and dragons into Zaarusha’s wounded son.
Multi-colored light streamed from Zaarusha’s wings, combining with Handel’s bronze and Erob’s midnight blue light on one side and Liesar’s silver on the other. The strands of sathir wove in a river of color, flowing through riders and dragons until it reached Tomaaz, brilliant orange light pouring from him into his dragon. Grateful for the gift of seeing sathir, or life energy, Ezaara mentally thanked Ithsar, the desert assassin, for teaching her.
The dragon’s scales grew brighter until he was glowing a healthy orange.
§
“Safe.”
The word shot through Tomaaz with such power that he broke the healing circle and crumpled to his knees, flinging his arms around Maazini’s neck.
Maazini lifted his head and nuzzled Tomaaz’s ribs. Soon his dragon was asleep.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 59
