Riders of Fire Box Set

by Eileen Mueller

  Breathing ragged, Roberto broke mind-meld. If he wasn’t careful, he’d give himself away. Once he’d controlled his shock, Roberto slipped back into Zens’ mind.

  The man threw Zens into a metal tub, mounted in a bench. Zens pushed a shiny handle and water came out of a spigot. He bathed himself in warm water.

  More wizardry.

  After he’d bathed, Zens pulled on a suit of soft fabric.

  “Done, are you?” said the yellow-eyed man. “Now clean up that mess.”

  The man shoved some rags and a clear bottle—too light to be glass—into Zens’ hands. The boy stumbled to the cupboard to clean up his mess.

  The stench of stale urine and blood made Roberto’s empty stomach roil.

  Zens squeezed a handle on the neck of the bottle and a fine spray shot out of the strange spout-shaped lid. When he was done, Zens threw away the rags. “Sorry, Papa.”

  The man towered over him. Eyes slitted, he backhanded Zens so hard his jaw snapped shut.

  Zens bit his tongue, the coppery tang flooding his mouth. He curled in a ball, blows raining on his head. Blinding flashes of pink and yellow seared through his mind.

  Roberto snapped mind-meld. Nausea hit him as his memories of Amato beating him resurfaced. He almost pitied Zens, until he remembered the countless slaves he’d murdered and villages he’d razed in his quest for power. He tried to moisten his lips again, and failed.

  Should he dive back in? What if Zens woke?

  Despite his trepidation, Roberto slunk back into Zens’ mind, a silent witness to his worst nightmares.

  The man kicked Zens in the gut. He retched on the floor, clutching his abdomen. Dark blood flew out of his mouth as he vomited, splattering the cupboards under the benches.

  Aiming a final kick at the boy, Zens’ father spat on him. “Clean your filth up.” He left the room, slamming the door.

  The scene of Zens’ nightmare changed.

  Zens was in the center of a group of littlings, taunting him and jeering.

  “Your father smack your nose in?”

  “How’d it get half way across your face? Fall off a roof again?”

  “You’re uglier than ever—suits you.”

  Shame knifed through Zens. He lashed out with his fist and connected with someone’s stomach. As cries broke out, he fled along a shiny metal corridor. Flexing his fingers, he shook his hand, but the pain felt good. Better than cowering in shame.

  A new memory surfaced.

  A thin dark-haired woman was seated on a high stool at one of the workbenches in the room where Zens had wet himself. “This won’t hurt a bit,” she crooned, strapping Zens’ arms, legs, chest and neck to a worktable. She tightened the bands and gave him an acrid red drink, cradling his head as he swallowed.

  Sweet dreams flowed through him—of sunny beaches edged by vast forests full of colored birds. Zens reveled in the air’s salty tang, the cool water lapping around his ankles and the sun on his skin.

  Something pricked the soles of his feet. Heat surged through them, building until his feet were blazing hot. His body convulsed. The bands cut into him. Small, neat stabs of pain trailed up his legs. Fire seared his veins. He was burning up. He screamed for help, “Mama.”

  “You’re all right, darling,” responded the dark-haired woman, her eyes cold as she plunged needles into his arms.

  His arms were on fire. His chest, his belly.

  She stuck a needle into his neck.

  His head throbbed with heat. “No, Mama,” Zens whimpered, over and over.

  The woman stalked from the room without a backward glance.

  Zens twisted and writhed but couldn’t escape the burning.

  An age later, the fire ebbed and he collapsed like an empty sack. Everything went black.

  Had Zens stopped dreaming? Gods, his parents were devils, evil torturers.

  Light entered through a narrow window high in a wall. Dawn was breaking. Zens was still strapped to the table. His body ached all over. What had his parents done to him this time? Darkness clawed inside Zens, robbing him of hope.

  Muted voices sounded. Large metals doors were flung open. His parents entered. Zens’ mother flicked a tiny lever in the wall and white light flooded out of strange globes in the ceiling.

  Zens’ eyeballs were on fire. He squeezed them shut, trying to stamp out the burning with his lids.

  “Open them,” barked his father, his voice grating, hurting Zens’ ears and head.

  Zens opened his eyes, but the light burned them. Through a film of tears, he faced his parents, still bound to the bench.

  “Oh, God.” Zens mother recoiled. “What have we done?’

  “He’s a monster.” Even his father looked shocked.

  “What have we done? This experiment was supposed to give him extraordinary mental powers to help subdue our enemies, but look at him.”

  “As ugly as sin.” His father grimaced.

  “Papa,” Zens’ littling voice shook. “Mama?”

  His mother turned on his father, lips tight with rage. “I told you we shouldn’t use that DNA, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  Roberto had no idea what she was talking about, but Zens seemed to.

  “Mama,” Zens whimpered. “What is it?”

  His mother held up a mirror. Zens’ eyes had become enormous yellow orbs. His head had grown and his neck had thickened. All of his hair had fallen out. He was ugly. Uglier than ever before. The bullies would never stop taunting him.

  “Let me go,” he yelled, bucking against his restraints.

  “You’re uglier than a scum-sucking dog, but it might have worked.” His father’s smile sent chills down his neck. Turning to Zens’ mother, he said, “Let’s test his powers.”

  Zens lay helpless, crying, on the workbench.

  Zens’ dream flipped to the same corridor where Roberto had seen him being taunted.

  He was surrounded by a crowd of littlings.

  “Your eyes are big and yellow. Did your daddy’s experiment go wrong?”

  Experiment? That word again. Its meaning eluded Roberto.

  “Your body’s huge. How did you get so big?”

  “Yeah, what have they been feeding you? Pig slop?”

  “Your ugly nose is still squashed, though—that’s how we recognized you.” A girl shoved him.

  A rush of power coursed through Zens. He pointed at the girl, and squeezed his fist. The girl gurgled, clutching her throat. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

  At last, it was his turn to be strong. Zens laughed—his voice rumbling out of his bull-like chest.

  The others fled, screaming. Rejoicing in his power, Zens dropped another two before the corridor was empty.

  Zens’ memories flashed by: jabbing animals with needles in his parents’ metal room; slicing samples of their tusks, fur, and flesh; setting the samples into fluid-filled jars; watching them grow; all the while, making notes.

  He was following in his parents’ footsteps—bending nature with strange magic. A blur of images passed before Roberto’s eyes, then one came into focus.

  Zens was older, hauling a furry, tusked creature out of an enormous jar and helping it stand. Its nose was snout-like and its beady eyes, red. A tharuk.

  Elation surged through Zens. He’d done it. He hugged the beast. “Welcome to my world, 000. Together we’ll strike our enemies.”

  The tharuk growled, rubbing its head against Zens’ palm. Zens laughed, patting it.

  Footsteps and voices echoed outside the room. Zens thrust 000 into a metal cupboard to one side of the entrance doors, sending it mental instructions.

  Roberto flinched. Surely, he’d misunderstood.

  The door flew open and Zens’ father entered. “Still mucking around? You’ll never amount to anything.” He spat in Zens’ face.

  “It’s not his fault. We ruined him. Can’t you give him a break?” Zens’ mother pleaded, wringing her hands.

  “Mother, come and see what I’ve made
.” Zens called her over, taking advantage of her soft spot for him. “Here, in this jar.” He escorted her toward his jar nearest the cupboard.

  Falling for his lure, she came closer. “Has one of your pets grown, dear? Do show me. It’s a shame you can’t go to school anymore, but after you harmed those boys … let me see. It doesn’t look much larger.”

  The cupboard doors flew open. 000 burst out, roaring. It lunged at Zens’ father. Grabbing him in its strong arms, it squeezed his ribs until they punctured his clothing, blood soaking his shirt. 000 twisted the carcass. Its slashed the man’s neck open with his claws. It ripped his belly open with its tusks, flinging entrails over the room.

  ‘Enough,” called Zens, “Now it’s mother’s turn.”

  Her screams were silenced as the tharuk ripped her head off with a sweep of its claws and smashed it against the metal cupboards, splattering gray tissue over the walls.

  §

  Zens woke with a pounding headache. His nightmares had been riddled with memories of his parents. When the nightmares came, they came hard and fast—always about their experiments. “Your father and I bred you as a living experiment,” his mother used to say, filled with pride, as they’d meddled with his DNA. Idiots. That had been their downfall. They’d changed him so his mental and physical powers had exceeded theirs. And his lust for power. They’d only wanted to control the world, whereas Zens was determined to rule other worlds as well his own.

  At least, that had been his plan until that master wizard had shut the portal.

  A shame, really. Limitless planets were out there, waiting for him—if he could only escape this backward realm, and those stinking flying lizards. Without them, he’d be in charge already.

  He walked down the tunnels and took the passage that spiraled down to his lab. Opening the stone door, he walked through the anteroom and inspected the glass vats in his underground laboratory. The whole lab was powered by methimium. By accident, he’d found the valuable energy source, here, in this corner of Dragons’ Realm, along with enough vassals to mine it. At least they were now spending their pathetic lives on something useful.

  Reaching into a bowl on the lab bench, he sprinkled the finely-ground yellow crystals onto his tongue. The bitter taste permeated his mouth, bringing back foul memories of when his father had first started feeding him the stuff. He swallowed it down, craving more of the power it gave him.

  Zens flicked a switch and yellow methimium-powered light flooded the vats. His lovelies were coming along quite nicely. Soon, he would overpower those vile dragons and put the entire population to work in his mines. Then, when the next mage opened a portal, he’d return to Earth and create methimium-powered weapons that would bring mankind to its knees.

  §

  Roberto snapped mind-meld and hunched over, dry retching. Even though he hadn’t eaten for days, his stomach heaved again and again. Although Amato had abused Roberto and sold him to Zens, who’d tortured him and broken his mind and will, never once had Roberto imagined inflicting that sort of damage on his father. He drove the ghastly images from his mind.

  Zens must never know he’d seen his parents’ abuse, the bullies, or him killing his mother and father. Zens would kill him outright.

  Roberto now knew Zen’s biggest weakness. A weakness Zens probably didn’t realize he had. A weakness Roberto might be able to exploit to get out of here.

  But if Zens dug through his mind and found out how he felt about Ezaara, he’d also know Roberto’s weakness. He slumped against the wall, exhausted, mentally burying his memories of Ezaara.

  §

  Zens’ skull-splitting headache was brought on by the memories of his parents’ torture. Torture in the name of science. Torture that had made him the powerful being he was. Torture that had made his life on Earth miserable.

  There was one remedy for his headache.

  He entered the cavern adjacent to the lab, where 000 was working, and where he performed his own experiments. “Triple,” he said.

  His beautiful first creation turned to him. “Yes, beloved Master?” 000 asked.

  “It’s time for a killing spree.”

  “I’ll find you some slaves,” 000 said, “and bring them to your chamber.” He stalked from the cavern, his boots echoing with menacing thuds down the tunnel.

  Zens laughed. Today was getting better already.

  Kierion’s Folly

  The torch in her cavern was burning low when Ezaara got in, peeling off her damp jerkin and stamping her cold feet.

  “You’re out late. It’s way after midnight.”

  She started. She hadn’t seen Tomaaz, sitting in the shadows. “Hey, how are you, Maaz?” She’d been out, stunt-riding Zaarusha.

  He unfolded himself and approached. “That’s what I wanted to ask you. Nightmares again?”

  She shrugged. “Every night. And you? Why are you up so late?”

  “I don’t know. Restless.” He shifted from foot to foot.

  Perching on the bed, she removed her boots, and pulled on a fresh pair of woolen socks.

  “You’re Queen’s Rider,” Tomaaz said. “You can meld with any dragon. And you’re a great healer. But I don’t know what my role is here.”

  It wasn’t like Tomaaz to doubt himself. Something must be eating at him. “You’re incredible. You saved Lovina, Ma and the boy from Death Valley.”

  “Taliesin’s his name—he’s talking now.”

  “That’s good. While you were off saving lives, all I’ve done is sit at Dragons’ Hold.”

  “And go to the Wastelands to save Roberto. And save Zaarusha from poison.”

  “We do what we can for those we love.”

  “Exactly.” He sat on her bed beside her.

  She knew her twin. “Is this about Lovina?” she asked. “You love her, don’t you?”

  His voice softened. “I do.” He stared at her. “And you, Ezaara? I guess I can’t ask you that question.”

  He knew she loved Roberto. They’d never been able to hide much from each other. “We have to save him,” she whispered.

  “We do,” said Tomaaz. “I feel terrible for leaving him behind.” He patted her hand. “Only four more days and we’ll return with the strength of Dragons’ Hold at our backs. I wish we could go now.”

  Ezaara nodded, throat too tight to speak.

  Tomaaz walked to the door and put a hand on the handle. “Believe me, Ezaara, every day he’s there kills me. It’s not fair that I’m at home with my loved ones while he’s subjected to the dragon gods know what.”

  Exactly. When Tomaaz shut the door, Ezaara lay on her bed, staring at the cold stone ceiling.

  §

  By the time dawn touched the tips of Dragon’s Teeth, Kierion and Adelina were far from Dragons’ Hold, skimming over the northern part of Spanglewood Forest. The peaks protecting Dragons’ Hold were distant sentinels behind Kierion’s back. There was nothing quite like the thrill of flying above the realm while the sun bathed the snow-dusted trees in its glow.

  Kierion mind-melded with Riona, “Where did Septimor see Roberto?”

  “Just below this ridge, in the trees.” Riona shared Septimor’s memory.

  Adelina hadn’t said exactly where Roberto was supposed to be or what he was doing away from Dragons’ Hold, just that he was on council business. But Kierion wasn’t stupid. She was holding something back. Since Tomaaz had returned without Roberto, she’d been troubled. Even Erob was back, although he was still resting on the infirmary ledge. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Roberto had been attacked by tharuks. Maybe he was missing. Rumors said he’d gone rogue, but Kierion didn’t believe Roberto would desert Erob.

  Linaia and Adelina swooped down the ridge. Kierion followed on Riona, the rising sun making the gold highlights in Riona’s purple scales blaze. Exhilaration swept through him. He’d never imagined flying could feel like this—the wind in his face, the peace so high above everything, or the love he’d feel for such a magnificent beast.
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  “You’re not such a bad beast yourself,” Riona said.

  Kierion grinned.

  Their dragons dived between the trees, banking steeply to prevent their wings from hitting foliage. Riona and Linaia settled onto the ground, furling their wings against their sides.

  “We’ll search for him by foot,” Adelina called.

  “Good idea. The trees are too dense to scout by air.” Kierion took his bow and quiver from Riona’s saddlebag and checked his sword was secure in its scabbard. He slid to the ground.

  “Look.” Adelina pointed to boot prints in the snow. “Maybe that was him.”

  The prints led deeper into the forest. Kierion nodded. “As good a chance as any. Let’s go.”

  Their boots crunched through the snow as they wound between the trees. Kierion was bursting with curiosity but he waited until they’d walked a while before questioning Adelina. “So, what’s Roberto been doing away from the hold so long?”

  Adelina’s shoulders tightened. “Stuff.”

  “Come on, Adelina. Something’s been eating at you.”

  She raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Oh, has it? Then why don’t you tell me what it is?”

  Kierion shrugged. “Erob was hurt, so tharuks must have attacked. Is your brother hiding somewhere, or injured?”

  Her face paled.

  Oh, shards. He’d blurted it out without thinking about how she’d feel. “Come on, Adelina. You know me. You can trust me.” He pounded his fist against his chest. “Always.”

  She bit her lip and kept trudging after those darned boot prints.

  They probably weren’t Roberto’s. If he’d been hurt this close to the hold, he would’ve signaled a blue guard to collect him, surely. Unless he was hiding from the council. Kierion hurried after Adelina, then fell into step beside her, passing her an apple from his pocket.

  She cradled the apple in her palm, murmuring something so quietly, he missed it.

  He kept his trap shut and ears open, not biting into his apple in case he crunched too loudly and missed what she said.

  Sure enough, after a few more paces, she spoke again. “He was on council business, you know. I wasn’t lying.” He nodded, and she kept talking while they walked. “Roberto and Tomaaz were sent to infiltrate Death Valley. As they were leaving, they were attacked and Roberto was captured.”