“How do you think Lydia would feel if she knew?”
Lydia didn’t know that he’d still had strong feelings for Marlies, as he’d fallen for her. But Sofia’s mother did. Thank gods, those feelings had vanished when Marlies had fled Dragons’ Hold. “We’re here to discuss you attacking the Queen’s Rider.”
“And your reasons for pretending she’s the rightful rider, even in the face of Anakisha’s prophecy. A prophecy which states one of the former Queen’s Rider’s male heirs will rule at Dragons’ Hold.
“One of our progeny will reign in our stead
Filling our enemies’ foul hearts with dread
Purging all evil will be his desire
Vengeance he’ll wage with arrows of fire.”
Sofia’s harsh voice echoed off the cage’s stone walls.
“Him doesn’t necessarily mean a male, just as master applies to both females and males,” countered Lars.
“Oh? So, we shouldn’t take prophecies literally anymore?” Sofia arched an eyebrow, her forehead beaded with sweat. “Have you fallen for the daughter as you once fell for the mother? Really, Lars, I expected more.”
“You gutter snake,” Lars snapped. “You’re worthy of the title they bestow on you, Snake-tongue. Enough. I’m finished here.”
“But I’m not finished with you. If you were a half-decent leader, you’d summon all of Anakisha’s progeny to be tested.” She slumped back against the wall, her face a sickly shade of gray.
Grabbing his torch, Lars strode out the door, her barbs sticking in his gut as he swept past the guard who must’ve heard him bellowing at his cousin’s daughter.
§
Lars slammed the door to his cavern and stamped inside.
Lydia gave him a sharp look. “What’s the matter?”
“Sofia,” muttered Lars. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s as bad as Bruno and Fleur were. Attacking the Queen’s Rider, dividing the hold. Argh.” He yanked a boot off, hurling it against the granite wall.
“And Master Roberto’s not here to test her,” Lydia said. “Aren’t you worried about him?”
“Of course, I’m worried sick about him.” Lars sat on the couch, removing his other boot. Lydia sat next to him and rubbed his neck and shoulders. “Oh, that feels good.”
“Why haven’t you sent a team to rescue Roberto?” Lydia asked.
“It’s Tonio.”
“He has evidence against him?” Lydia raised her eyebrows, shaking her head as Lars nodded. “That poor lad, what does he have to go through next? Hasn’t he suffered enough at Zens’ hands? Can’t you do something? Say something to convince Tonio?”
Lars’ mouth took a grim set. “Tonio has evidence, Lydia. Evidence that would land Roberto in dire straits if he returned.” He sighed. “Sofia accused me of not being fair to Anakisha’s descendants. It’s been eating at me. I guess I have to call a meeting.”
Lydia kissed him and stood up. “The sooner, the better.”
Not if he could help it.
Torture
Roberto let his jaw hang slack and kept his fingers curled against his palms. He focused on the gray walls flecked with silica, watching the way the torchlight flickered on the stone.
A wave of violence ripped through his thoughts, scattering them like driftwood on a tide. “Still blocking me, are you?” Zens’ silky-smooth voice slipped into his head. “Amato was right. You’re useless.”
The granite walls wavered. Roberto forced them to the forefront of his mind again.
Zens flicked a finger.
Shackles rattling, Roberto’s body flew through the air. His head smacked stone and he slid down the wall. Stumbling to his feet, he gritted his teeth against the pain.
Zens’ yellow orbs loomed before Roberto. Roberto’s granite wall faded, replaced with childhood memories: his father murdering his beloved dog, Razo, spraying Roberto with blood as he wept; Pa arguing with Ma, splintering wooden walls in his fury; Pa beating Adelina; and Roberto jumping in, to be beaten in her stead. Agony ripped through him, as if Amato was inflicting every punch anew: his father punched his head and pain sparked across his skull; he kicked Roberto’s gut and his belly stabbed. Then Pa’s dragon, Matotoi, dropped his mother onto the rocks. She lay broken. Grief tightened Roberto’s throat, making it hard to breathe.
Zens’ voice slithered between the violent images. “Tell me everything about the new Queen’s Rider, and your memories will stop. You’ve tested her. You know her weaknesses, her strengths. Just tell me.”
Ma was dying. Chest twisting with grief, Roberto rushed across the rocks to help her.
No, it was Zens, making him relive his worst moments. The wall. Granite. Gray. Flecks. Straining, Roberto forced the image back into his head. Gray, gray stone. Hard, impenetrable.
His childhood faded to dust. There, he’d blocked Zens out. Skull aching, Roberto breathed heavily, sweat running down his forehead. Gray stone. Gray stone.
“Triple,” Zens called.
000 entered, stinking of the fetid carcasses it fed on.
“You thought you could leave me, did you? After everything I taught you? You’d only be half the man you are if it wasn’t for me.” Zens spat on Roberto’s face.
The masters had accepted Roberto to the council because of the talents he’d learned from Zens. The commander was right.
No, he was wrong, oh, so wrong.
“So close, but you slipped away.” Zens velvet voice turned to a snarl as he barked at 000. “If he wants to talk, or agrees to be my spy at Dragons’ Hold, we’ll give him the remedy to limplock. If not, he’ll die soon, so you may as well beat him to a pulp.”
§
After 000’s first slash across Roberto’s back and a vicious boot in his gut, Ezaara submerged, terrified. She couldn’t give her presence away. She was his only hope.
Roberto’s screams ricocheted off the stone walls. Curling into a ball, she held her hands over her ears and kept her mind submerged as tears tracked her cheeks.
The thud of boots against his body went on forever.
The thump of him hitting the floor.
Her mind fried with fear, but she had to keep her emotions hidden. Undetectable.
Abruptly, Roberto’s screams cut off.
000’s heavy boots kept thwacking Roberto’s soft flesh, making Ezaara’s skin crawl. Then 000 slammed the door, and the bar slid into place.
Ezaara sneaked to the crack. Roberto was sprawled on stone, covered in blood, all pretense of numlock and limplock gone. Silent, except for his rasping breaths.
She didn’t dare move. Gradually, Ezaara eased her mind open, tentatively searching for a sign of Zens. Nothing. He’d abandoned watching Roberto’s mental state while he was unconscious. It was too dangerous to approach Roberto while Zens was awake, but if Ezaara didn’t help him, he’d soon be dead.
A Crow’s News
Someone rapped on the door. “Come in,” Lars called, putting down his spoon.
The door opened to admit Seppi, leader of the blue guards, carrying a dead crow. “Lars, we’ve found something you may want to see.”
Lars frowned. After a late, taxing night, Seppi had interrupted his breakfast to show him a dead bird? “Go ahead.” Seppi brought the crow closer. Lars shoved his breakfast to one side and gestured that Seppi should sit. “What is it?”
“Sorry to disturb your breakfast, Lars, but this is one of the birds Zens has been communicating with.”
Lars raised his eyebrows. What was he on about?
“Look at this.” Seppi lay the bird on the table and flipped it on its back, extending the wing. Underneath, flush against its body, was a bald spot where its plumage had been plucked and an incision made in its flesh. Seppi pulled the sides of the incision apart to show a fat yellow crystal slicked with blood.
Lars shrugged. “And …?”
Seppi’s eyes drilled into Lars. “These crystals are how Zens and his tharuks mind-meld with animals. How he controls them.”
That’s right; during Bruno’s trial, a guard had found a bag of similar crystals from Zens. Lars scratched his beard. “Roberto said Bruno’s crystals were dangerous and should be destroyed.”
“I’d believe that,” said Seppi. “But were they? Or are some of Bruno’s crystals being used at Dragons’ Hold?”
§
The torches in the infirmary were burning low. Marlies held a bowl out. Sofia groaned, doubling over with her arms clutching her gut. A sheen of sweat beaded her face. A gush of gray vomit hit the bowl, splattering up the sides. Marlies frowned. Gray vomit? The acrid stench of stomach acid hit her nostrils, making her own stomach turn. Rumble weed—it must be. It colored the victim’s vomit gray.
“What did you eat?” asked Marlies.
Sofia moaned, shaking her head.
“Or drink?”
“Water,” Sofia replied weakly.
“Who gave it to you?”
“Why? Have I been poisoned?” Sofia groaned.
Yes, but she wasn’t going to tell Sofia that. “Of course not. I’m checking if our water sources at the hold are tainted.” Marlies passed Leah the bowl of vomit. “Could you dispose of that, please?” She gave Sofia a glass. “Here, drink this to settle your stomach.”
She felt guilty giving Sofia double-strength woozy weed tea, but this was the snipe who’d attacked Ezaara. Lars had been in earlier, mentioning crystals that could control animals. Could a crystal have driven Sofia’s behavior?
Marlies yawned and settled her tired bones into a chair. Waiting until Sofia was dozing soundly, she lifted the young woman’s clothing up over her stomach to inspect her skin. Nothing. No irregularities. She ran her hands over Sofia’s arms. All fine. Checked her legs through her breeches. Her fingers traced an irregular bump on Sofia’s right thigh.
Marlies fetched a torch and mounted it on the sconce above Sofia’s pallet. She slit the side of Sofia’s breeches. A puckered scar marred Sofia’s thigh, badly stitched, with a distinct bump under the scar tissue. She ran her fingers gently over the bump several times, nodding grimly. “Leah,” she murmured, “fetch me the knife I use for lancing blisters.”
Wide-eyed, Leah fetched the blade. “Does she have a crow crystal?”
“Let’s see.” Marlies made an incision along the scar tissue. Pressing firmly with the flat of her blade, Marlies pushed the lump under Sofia’s skin toward the incision. Blood oozed out of the cut, then something yellow glinted. She squeezed the flesh. A crystal the size of Marlies’ thumb slid out of Sofia’s thigh in a trickle of blood. Using a cloth, Marlies deposited the crystal into a jar and corked it. How sharding awful. Zens was controlling innocent people around them. Her stomach roiled. Who else was affected?
She melded with Liesar. “Give this to Singlar. Lars ought to see this.”
Leah took the jar out to Liesar while Marlies stitched Sofia’s wound shut.
Soon, Lars bustled into the infirmary, holding up the jar. “Master Roberto mentioned that these were dangerous. I thought we’d destroyed them all.”
“Zens has been controlling Sofia,” Marlies replied. “He’s infiltrated Dragons’ Hold by having Fleur plant them inside people as she healed them.”
“That makes sense. Ezaara accidentally knifed Sofia, but her attitude only went downhill after Fleur healed her.” Lars drummed his fingers against the jar. “We’ll have to check everyone. We can’t let this get out. We can’t have people turning against each other, seeking implanted crystals.”
“Bill, a tharuk spy, has a similar bump on his arm. Zens must be controlling him too.” Marlies bit her lip. “Let’s start with the people most recently healed by Fleur.” So much work ahead of her, when her bones already ached with exhaustion.
“The dragon gods forbid,” said Lars, his hand hovering over his sword. “The hold could be crawling with spies—people we love and trust.”
§
Lars outlined the danger of the crystal implants, reported Ezaara and Adelina’s disappearances, then smacked his gavel to end the meeting. Hans caught Lars’ eye. He glanced at the door, then left the council chambers. Lars followed, striding to meet him on the ledge outside.
“Thank you, Lars. I wanted to talk alone.”
“What is it? Has Marlies found more riders with implanted crystals?”
Hans shook his head. “Not yet, and she’s worked herself to the bone, checking twenty people already.” And she’d been tired before she’d started. “No, it’s something else, but just as grave. Tomaaz and Kierion left yesterday for Death Valley.”
“Dragon’s bleeding talons,” Lars thundered. “Now they’re gone too.” He shot Hans an astute look. “Who else?”
“Lovina said they’ve taken two wizards with them.”
“Great.” He snorted. “Two young wizards to mess up their chances.”
The visions that had been plaguing Hans for many nights roiled in his mind. Mages on dragonback amid whistling arrows. And tharuks sizzling with green mage flame. Hans put his hand on Lars’ arm. “Lars, as master of prophecy, I’m telling you we must work with mages, not shun them. This team is our best chance of rescuing Roberto, Adelina, and Ezaara.”
His only daughter, deep in Zens’ territory. Thank the Egg, Tomaaz had gone, but he’d be in danger too. He’d barely made it home last time.
Would the twins return? Hans’ visions had been silent on that front.
Devil’s Choice
For an agonizing two days, Zens sent black-eyed tharuk mind-benders into Roberto’s chamber, trying to break him. Unable to stand watching Roberto gripping his head and writhing on the floor, Ezaara searched the passages for an escape route.
The warren of tunnels led to cave-ins or back to the main tunnel, constantly swarming with tharuks. Useless—there was no way out.
When she returned to her vigil at the chink in the wall, Roberto was moaning, conscious again. He raised his head from the floor, stared straight at the fissure and mouthed, “Help.”
It was all Ezaara needed. She’d already taken freshweed and owl’s wort. She crawled along the tunnel, making her way toward the ventilation shaft to Roberto. Halfway there, snuffling slunk along the tunnel behind her. Tharuks. She scrambled to the ventilation shaft. Hoisted herself inside the narrow opening.
She stopped around the first bend, wrapping her camouflage cloak around her. Hopefully, the shaft entrance was too small for the beast. Quietening her breath, she strained, listening.
Tharuk stench wafted along the shaft. Her taste buds writhed.
Did it know she was here? With freshweed and her camouflage cloak, she should be undetectable. Was this a random coincidence? The beast’s boots scraped on the tunnel walls. Its harsh breathing rasped along the shaft. Ezaara’s blood ran cold. She drew her knife from her boot.
The tharuk grunted and wheezed. Thrashing and thumps echoed along the shaft. The beast wasn’t getting any closer. Knife at the ready, Ezaara cocked her head. She peeked around the bend. Even with owl wort, it was too dark. Knife between her teeth, she shook her vial of dragon’s breath, holding it up. The bright light revealed a tharuk wedged tight in the shaft’s mouth. It snarled, its arms shooting up to cover its eyes—her light was blinding it.
“Smelled your bread, I did,” it grunted.
Oh, shards, she’d dropped a scrap of bread in the tunnel.
As it lowered its arms, Ezaara rushed forward, plunging her knife into its eye, ramming hard. The knife sunk through the soft gelatinous tissue into the beast’s skull. The monster’s arms flailed, claws swiping her forearm.
Its head and arms slumped to the stone. Dark blood gushed over the rock.
Gritting her teeth against her stinging arm, Ezaara scrambled back and leaned against the wall. Taking a rag from her pouch, she bound her arm. Although the gash was searing, she didn’t dare use piaua. She had to save it for Roberto. The shaft entrance was now blocked from pursuers—but so was her escape. Ezaara doused her light and crawled on through the dark. The venti
lation shaft twisted then angled downward, growing lighter. Just around the bend and she’d be there.
Cautiously, she reached out for Roberto. “Are you still alone?”
The crash of his door against stone answered that question.
Ezaara tugged her cloak around her and crouched, motionless.
“There it is, again.” 000’s foul voice drifted up the shaft. “That same scent as from the small tunnel. What did 1352 find?”
“Bread? 1352 still searching,” a grunt answered.
“That runt has a keen nose,” said 000. Boots tromped toward the shaft. “What’s this?”
“A scrap of cloth, sir.”
Oh gods, the fragment of her cloak.
“I know that, 1554.” There was a thump.
The tharuk grunt whimpered. “I can fit in shaft. I is small.”
“Good idea.” Feet neared. Scrapes sounded on the wall.
Ezaara had heard enough—she fled through the shaft in the dark, bashing her knees and scraping her hands. Soon, her hand hit a furry mass—the dead tharuks’ arm. She shoved it aside and braced her feet against the shaft wall. Leaning her back into the corpse’s head, Ezaara shoved. It didn’t budge. She pushed again, but the corpse was stuck.
Ominous shuffling reached Ezaara’s ears. 1554 was heading toward her. Frantically, Ezaara thrust her shoulder at the jammed corpse. She slid her knife between the beast and the stone, trying to jimmy the monster out of the way.
Harsh breathing came around the corner. 1554’s fetid breath filled the tunnel. Ezaara lunged, thrusting her knife. The tharuk grunt slashed. Her knife clattered to the stone. She groped for it. 1554 punched her temple. Her head smacked the wall, and pain ricocheted through her skull. Dizzy. She was so dizzy.
Shuffling backward, 1554 dragged her along the shaft by the throat and hair.
Ezaara’s scalp burned. She curled up, trying to kick the tharuk, but it yanked her hair harder. She screamed.
“Quiet.” It tightened its grip on her throat until her breath rasped.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 87
