Dragon Rift: Riders of Fire, Book Three - A Dragons’ Realm Novel

by Eileen Mueller

  Grave danger? Well, that was the tharuks. But inventive nature? No one had called him inventive before. A fool, yes. A prankster, too. Growing up on a farm on the outskirts of Montanara, he’d been known by the locals for his high jinks. He cocked his head, waiting for his inevitable punishment.

  Lars’ eyes narrowed as he appraised Kierion for more agonizing moments.

  Kierion’s spirits sank into his boots. He’d been hoping he’d come to the council leader’s attention so he could be in the next crop of trainee dragon riders. He sighed. There was no way that could ever happen now. He’d intended to retrieve the arrows before the council found out. But apparently, they’d all been up at the crack of dawn for an emergency council meeting. Thank the Egg, no villages had been attacked. It had seemed like such a fun idea, but he really had been stupid.

  “I can’t let an action this foolhardy go unpunished. You’re on kitchen duty until further notice: an hour before dawn and two hours after dusk. No skipping classes or any training, or your hours will be doubled. You must also fulfill all of your usual duties. I assume you had help from other blade thrusters to carry out this prank?” Lars spat the word prank, as if it was dirty.

  It felt strange hearing their nickname, blade thrusters, roll off the council leaders’ tongue—young and petty. “Um, yes, a few people helped me.” He didn’t dare mention that every trainee blade thruster had been in on the gag.

  “Good. Then, unless you want to be stuck on kitchen duty for months, you’d better get them to own up and help.”

  Months? Kierion swallowed. Who’d willingly want to scrub Benji’s smelly old soup cauldrons for months?

  “The more of your accomplices that help, the shorter your kitchen duty will be.” Lars held up a finger. “And don’t let me catch you doing anything stupid again.”

  Kierion nodded. Months of kitchen duty. There had to be a way out of that.

  Lars shot Kierion another piercing gaze. “Where are the arrows?”

  With Lars grilling him, it was hard to swallow. “Um, up on Lookout Peak.”

  “Lookout Peak?” Lars frowned. “Surely you mean halfway up? Not at the top?”

  “Ah …”

  Lars shook his head. “You never do things by halves, do you?”

  “Not usually, sir. Ma taught me that if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

  A chuckle escaped Lars. The council leader was enjoying watching him squirm. But then Lars asked, “Tell me, how did you get all those arrows up Lookout Peak? Did a dragon help you?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I’d never involve a dragon, sir. Some of the blade thrusters—ah, sword fighters—collected the arrows with me during dinner time, then one helped me bring them up the peak.”

  Lars’ brow furrowed. “But how did you get them up there? It’s a steep climb.”

  “We dragged a sledge.”

  To Kierion’s surprise, Lars burst out laughing.

  He shifted from foot to foot, unsure what to make of the leader’s outburst.

  “What did the archers do to deserve having all their arrows stolen?”

  Before he could think, indignation had Kierion blurting it out, “Those arrow flingers filled our scabbards with honey, sir, so we couldn’t draw our swords. Took hours to clean up the mess.”

  “Indeed.” He scratched his beard. “I’ll definitely shorten your tenure in the kitchens if you manage to get your enemies to front up to kitchen duty too.” Lars stabbed a finger at him. “But remember, the archers are not your real enemies. Tharuks are. Those same arrow flingers may save your lives in battle. From now on, I want to see teamwork.”

  That would be impossible. “Yes, sir, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “No, Kierion, don’t just try. Make it happen. Now, go and retrieve those arrows.”

  Kierion nodded. What else could he do? If he didn’t want to lose his chance at being a dragon rider, he had to find some way of breaching the growing rivalry between the arrow fling—no, the archers and the sword fighters. Rivalry he’d been happy inflaming. He turned to walk from Lars’ cavern.

  “Before you go, Kierion, there’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  Kierion turned back. “Yes?”

  “Is it true that, back in Montanara, you strung a whole flock of chickens up a tree without harming any of them?”

  Kierion groaned inwardly. So that gossip had spread to Dragons’ Hold too. His face grew hot. He met Lars’ gaze anyway. “Yes, sir, I did.”

  Lars laughed. “Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Now, go and fetch those arrows back before I get Singlar to flame your breeches.”

  As Kierion shut Lars’ door, the council leader was still chuckling.

  Great. Scaling two hours up Lookout Peak to retrieve the sledge full of arrows was going to be easy compared to convincing both the arrow flingers and the blade thrusters to do weeks of kitchen duty—and learn to work well together. But Lars was right. They needed to fight tharuks, not each other.

  §

  Lovina and Gret were about to enter the girls’ sleeping cavern when a sharp voice echoed down the corridor. “Ezaara as Queen’s Rider? That’s the biggest joke I’ve heard in years. She doesn’t deserve the title.” Lovina put her arm out to stop Gret from rounding the corner and pressed her finger to her lips. Gret raised her eyebrows and they huddled against the stone wall to listen.

  “But Zaarusha chose her,” said a young voice.

  “Don’t be stupid. We all know Ezaara’s not the rightful Queen’s Rider. It contradicts Anakisha’s prophecy.”

  “What do you mean? She imprinted with Zaarusha.”

  “How do we really know that? She could have fooled the queen. Anakisha’s prophecies have never failed, therefore Ezaara can’t be Queen’s Rider.”

  Lovina turned to Gret mouthing, ‘What?’

  “Come on, we’re going to be late to training.” Footsteps approached.

  Gret yanked Lovina back down the tunnel and around a corner. “There’s somewhere we can talk along here.” They jogged further until they were outside Ezaara’s cavern, then Gret pulled Lovina down the Queen’s Rider’s tunnel and into a hidden alcove opposite Ezaara’s door, barely large enough for both of them.

  “I never knew this was here, and I’ve often visited Ezaara.”

  “Erob showed me this place.”

  Lovina arched an eyebrow. “A dragon couldn’t fit in here.”

  Gret chuckled. “By mind-meld. He asked me to watch Ezaara one night. I caught Simeon trying to sneak into her chamber.”

  “Thank the Egg, him and his parents have been banished. What’s this prophecy Sofia was talking about?” Tomaaz had said she had the gift of prophecy. Maybe she could learn something. A tiny bud of wonder started to unfurl inside Lovina. Could she—Bill’s useless slave, less than the dust under his feet—have a valuable talent? If she did, she could contribute to Dragons’ Realm. She wouldn’t be a nobody, shackled and beaten; she could be special—like Anakisha.

  Gret snorted. “Anakisha prophesied about the next Queen’s Rider. There’s a verse or something. Apparently Ezaara doesn’t fit the criteria.”

  “Why?”

  “Ssh.”

  The other girls were barreling past on their way to training. “I’ll beat you all at knife throwing,” Sofia said, her cruel laughter hammering Lovina’s ears like a woodpecker.

  When they were gone, Gret said, “Look, it’s some old prophecy made almost twenty years ago. But I know Ezaara’s the true Queen’s Rider. I’ve seen her fly. I’ve seen her with Zaarusha. Besides, Master Roberto tested her—he’d know if she was fake.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure how much use prophecy is. The last master of prophecy was hopeless, and Anakisha’s prophecy is a stupid legacy that makes people argue. Come on, we’d better get to class.”

  Gret had a point. Lovina’s shoulders slumped.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Gret said as they walked to class. “Don’t worry, Sofia’s wrong. Ezaara’s fine as Queen
’s Rider. That prophecy was dumb.”

  Exactly. The bud of hope inside Lovina withered.

  Erob’s Rescue

  Tomaaz and Pa were finally ready. Ezaara patted Zaarusha’s side. “You’ve been very patient.”

  “I’m itching to get my son,” the queen replied.

  “You ready?” Pa asked, seated on Handel. Tomaaz was wedged in behind him. Maazini was too exhausted to come with them, his orange scales pale, even in the blazing sunset.

  Ezaara patted Zaarusha’s saddlebag. “Healing supplies, fishing nets, and I also brought a waterskin, in case Erob’s thirsty.”

  Boots thudded in Handel’s den, and Adelina ran onto the ledge. “Lars finally said I can help rescue Erob.” Her cheeks were pink and voice breathy.

  Ezaara melded with Singlar, Lars’ dragon. “Is Lars all right with Adelina coming along?” she asked.

  “He relented a few minutes ago. It seems she wore him down,” came the old dragon’s sardonic reply.

  Ezaara sent him a mental chuckle. Good. It made sense Adelina was coming. Besides being Roberto’s sister, Adelina knew Erob the best. Although how she’d convinced Lars, Ezaara had no idea. “Adelina can ride with me,” she said.

  Zaarusha extended a foreleg to help Adelina climb up into the saddle.

  “We have to get Erob to safety as quickly as possible,” Pa said. “Ezaara, please give Adelina some freshweed too, to mask her scent.” He nodded at Adelina as she stuffed the bitter leaves into her mouth. “We’ve all had ours. Remember, Erob is our goal. If tharuks are around, we’ll communicate via our dragons to decide our strategy. If Erob’s gut is too badly injured, Ezaara may need to stitch him up temporarily before we move him. Before our dragons mind-meld with Maazini to get Erob’s exact location, does anyone have questions?”

  “Yes,” said Adelina. “Why aren’t the council rescuing my brother?”

  Hans frowned. “As far as I understand, the council wants us to retrieve Erob first, then we’ll use the information he has to free Roberto.”

  Thank the Egg, Adelina had asked. Ezaara was half crazy with worry.

  Ezaara, Zaarusha and Handel mind-melded with Maazini.

  Ezaara was hit with Maazini’s sense of bone-weariness. Then she saw Erob, his head slumped on stony ground near a glade of trees. The side of his belly was ruptured. In her mind’s eye, they ascended and Erob grew smaller. It wasn’t a glade of trees he was lying near; he was in a clearing in a vast forest—Great Spanglewood Forest—with mountains rising a short distance away.

  “Those are the Terramites,” Zaarusha said. “He’s very near Death Valley. There are bound to be tharuks nearby.”

  “Then we’ll deal with them,” Handel snarled.

  Ezaara held up the ring Ma had lent her—Anakisha’s ancient ring of power. “Are you ready, Pa?” At his nod, she slipped the ring on her finger, rubbed it, calling, “Kisha.”

  “Ana,” called Pa, rubbing his ring.

  With a pop, Dragons’ Hold disappeared.

  Suddenly, they were in a tunnel of billowing clouds, bathed in golden light, their dragons suspended in midair. A willowy woman in a white gown approached, the clouds visible through her transparent figure. Ezaara recognized her from Zaarusha’s memories—Zaarusha’s last rider, Anakisha, who’d died in a desperate battle years ago.

  Zaarusha crooned a bittersweet melody of love and loss.

  Anakisha smiled, mind-melding with all of them. “The years have treated you well, Zaarusha. Thank you for bringing your new rider and Hans to see me.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Anakisha.” Hans said. “My daughter, Ezaara, is yet to fully qualify, however, she’s doing well.”

  “It’s pleasing to see Zaarusha so well loved.” Anakisha nodded at Ezaara. “Remember, only use these rings of power in dire need.” A dark shadow rippled along the tunnel wall.

  “We’re in need. Zaarusha’s son, Erob, is dying,” Ezaara melded.

  Zaarusha rumbled, showing Anakisha their destination.

  Her ex-rider smiled. “It’s wonderful to see you again, my friend.”

  With a crack, they were above Great Spanglewood Forest. The sinking sun splashed its blood-red rays over the jagged Terramites. Roars ricocheted off the trees. Burning torches blazed. Tharuks yanked on chains, dragging Erob’s limp body across a stony clearing.

  Ezaara readied her bow, mind-melding with Erob. Nothing. A faint blue thread of sathir was all she could sense. “Zaarusha, I can’t talk to him.”

  “Neither can I, but I can talk to them,” she snarled, diving at the tharuks. Fire gusted from her jaws, sweeping a group of beasts off their feet and leaving them smoking. An arrow whipped past Ezaara’s cheek as Adelina let one fly. A tharuk fell, the shaft embedded in its eye.

  More tharuks ran from the trees, aiming arrows. Ezaara loosed an arrow, hitting a tharuk in the chest. It stumbled, crashing to the stone.

  Handel roared past, chasing a group of beasts.

  Arrows rose in the air, whistling toward Zaarusha’s wing, dripping green gunge. “Look out, limplock.” Ezaara shrieked.

  The queen swerved. “Thanks.”

  In Erob’s wake was a trail of churned-up earth and stones where the beasts had dragged him. A wide swathe glistened in the setting sun. “Zaarusha, lower, I need to see what that is.”

  Zaarusha swooped low, heading over the trail, blasting flame at the monsters in her way. Her fire illuminated an ugly sight. A wide slick of Erob’s blood marred the ground, leading to an enormous rent in his belly. His pale, moist entrails glinted. Ezaara’s hand flew to her mouth as her gorge rose.

  “Pull harder,” yelled a tharuk troop leader, his bellow carrying above the mayhem.

  The beasts heaved on the chains. Erob’s belly skin split further, the gaping wound growing with each tug.

  “They’re killing him,” Adelina screamed in Ezaara’s ear. “We have to stop them.”

  Zaarusha swooped lower, slashing tharuks with her talons as she sped toward her son.

  Adelina’s arms loosened from around Ezaara’s waist. Chill air rushed across Ezaara’s back. Adelina dropped off Zaarusha. With a crunch of stone, rolling to stand, Adelina was running to Erob, sword out.

  “No, Adelina,” Ezaara cried.

  Handel swooped. Stones crunched as Tomaaz dropped to the ground and pelted after her. Handel flew above them, blasting tharuks with fire, clearing the way to Erob.

  Zaarusha whirled to flame a new troop of beasts that burst from the trees. Ezaara nocked and fired, felling tharuks as fast as she could, but more kept coming.

  The queen grabbed the trunk of a young tree and wrenched. Roots ripped from the earth. Rocks and clods fell from the tree’s tangled roots onto the tharuks, knocking some out. She swung the tree, sending tharuks crashing to the rocks. With a roar, Zaarusha dropped the tree onto the beasts, trapping most of them beneath it.

  Opening her jaws, she blasted fire. The branches caught. Flames licked along the trunk, incinerating the beasts in a column of fire that rose to meet the bloody-red sky. Through the stinking smoke, Ezaara aimed at two tharuks that had escaped, felling them with her arrows.

  Zaarusha wheeled back to Erob.

  Near Erob’s head, Tomaaz was hacking at a tharuk. Its claws swung near his face and he jumped back, his spine against Erob’s snout, then lunged.

  With a half-snarl-half-shriek, the tharuk fell, an arrow in its neck. More arrows flew from Pa’s bow, hitting tharuks in the arms, thighs and head. Handel spun to the beasts yanking the chains.

  “Move dragon,” yelled a large tharuk, waving a torch.

  Tharuks yanked the rope around Erob’s neck. The momentum swung Erob’s head across the stones, knocking Tomaaz to the ground.

  Adelina jumped in, slashing her sword across a tharuk’s neck. Its head flew to the ground in a spray of black blood.

  “Let’s clean up this mess,” Zaarusha snarled. She swiped at the tharuk leader, impaling his neck on her talon, then ripped his head from hi
s body, tossing the remains into the trees. She roared, swathes of fire cutting down the tharuks tugging on Erob’s neck chain. Handel attacked the beasts yanking the other chains.

  “Not too close. We’ll burn Erob.”

  “Retreat,” a tharuk yelled. The remaining tharuks dropped the chains, fleeing for the forest. Handel chased them with tongues of fire.

  As the sun dipped behind the Terramites, Zaarusha landed near her son. “Hurry, Ezaara.”

  Erob’s deep blue sathir was weak and flickering. Even though his sides barely moved as he breathed, the sharp imprint of his ribs pressed against his skin above the gaping rent in his belly.

  No, not Erob. They’d journeyed for days together, searching for Roberto in the Robandi desert. His dry humor had stopped Ezaara from going crazy. Losing him would break Roberto’s heart.

  Handel thumped to the ground, stones flying. “Tomaaz, Adelina,” barked Pa. “Stay vigilant. Swords at the ready.” He rushed over. “What can I do to help?”

  “Bring me torches, as many as you can.”

  Adelina ignored Pa, flinging her arms around Erob’s scaly neck. “Come on, boy,” she said, voice shaky. “Roberto needs you. I need you. You can’t die on us. I refuse to let you.” Even in the torchlight, it was easy to see Erob was dying. The ragged wound was as long as a man, and oozing guts and yellow pus.

  Zaarusha butted her head against his snout, but Erob didn’t respond. Her sorrow washed through Ezaara.

  “Pa and Tomaaz, ready the nets. Adelina, tell Erob to hold on.”

  Ezaara sloshed water over Erob’s intestines. If they dried out, they’d crack and there’d be no saving him. Luckily blood seepage had kept them moist. She dampened a clean cloth and held it against his gut, pushing it back inside the wound. “Adelina, hold his skin together, please.”

  Adelina pressed the cloth over the end of the wound, holding Erob’s gut in. Ezaara threaded her needle. If she didn’t stitch him temporarily before they moved him, his gut would split wide open, spilling his intestines. Erob didn’t even flinch as she jabbed the needle through his tough hide. Sweat beading her forehead, she tugged the edges of the wound together in long uneven stitches. Adelina moved along the wound as she worked, holding the edges together.