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

by Eileen Mueller

  Someone jabbed Ezaara’s back. When she turned, everyone was looking at their council leader.

  “You’ve seen the trust she has in Zaarusha,” Lars said. “Ezaara has earned the same trust from us. I ask that you give it willingly, freely. Let’s put an end to these vicious rumors and have peace among us as we face war with our enemy.” He stepped back.

  “Ready?” Master Alyssa cried, holding her horn high. Everyone cheered. “You’ll race to the clearing at the far side of the lake, swoop down to the dead conifer and pluck a cone from its branches. The winner is the first to drop their cone in this basket.” She gestured to one of the huge baskets used for gathering fruit from the orchards. “Singlar has marked all of the cones in that tree, so there’s no cheating.”

  “Got that, Kierion?” someone called.

  “You’re just jealous,” he crowed, amid laughter.

  “All trainees, including newly-imprinted riders, must participate,” Alyssa continued. “You’ll be racing against the Queen’s Rider and your masters, except for Master Derek and I. We’ll be judging the race. Any other riders can join in. The more who fly, the merrier. Now, go to your dragons, get to the start line, and await the horn. Good luck.”

  “You’re a murderer, not a Queen’s Rider,” someone hissed, voice dripping venom.

  Ezaara spun. The crowd was dispersing, so it was impossible to see who had spoken. “Did you hear that?” she asked Adelina.

  “What?” Adelina asked.

  “More insults.”

  “Ignore them. Zaarusha chose you. No one else has that right.” Adelina said, dodging around a beefy rider.

  “But Anakisha’s prophecy …” Ezaara pushed her way through the throng.

  “Handel says it will be fulfilled.”

  “How?”

  Adelina shrugged. “Good luck.” They knocked fists and Adelina headed to Linaia.

  “Trust me, it will work out,” Zaarusha melded.

  “I do trust you. Others should too.” She was nearly at Zaarusha when someone shoved her. She spun to see Sofia, Alban and Nadira smirking. She glared at them. “Feeling well enough to bully people again, are you, Alban?”

  Zaarusha roared, sending them scurrying. People turned and stared. “Climb up. Let’s race.”

  Ezaara scrambled into the harness, strapping it tight. Zaarusha took off and roared again, sending a warning flame above Sofia, Alban and Nadira’s heads. “We’ll triumph over these gossipmongers, you’ll see.”

  “Who’s the fastest dragon here?” asked Ezaara.

  “I am, now that Syan is gone.” A wave of sorrow swept across Ezaara—Zaarusha’s, for her dead mate. “The next fastest are Erob, Ajeurina and Maazini, due to their royal blood.”

  “Has Erob recovered fully?”

  “He and Maazini are both fit again.”

  In her worry over Roberto, she’d neglected Erob and Maazini. She must visit Erob when the race was over. He’d be pining for Roberto too. Dragons were landing, stamping, impatient to get going. They jostled into place, side by side, along the starting line, leaving at least two wing breadths between them.

  Alyssa waved her horn. “Remember, healthy competition and strategy are allowed, but no violence. Save that for tharuks. Enjoy the race.”

  “Let’s whip their tails.” Zaarusha’s body thrummed with suppressed excitement.

  Cheers rose as dragons and riders were poised, coiled tight with tension, waiting for their signal. There was a short blast on the horn accompanied by Lysika’s roar.

  A sea of dragons rose like a giant tidal wave, cresting upward. The air was thick with rustling wings as everyone battled to get free of the throng. Roars filled Ezaara’s ears. Tiny gusts of flame shot around them.

  Zaarusha pulled above the thrashing wings. Only a few experienced masters were flying high above the crowd, until Ezaara heard a holler and Kierion shot above them, a few new trainees trailing him.

  “’Atta girl, Riona,” he called out. “Come on, you lot, let’s show them.” Riona streamlined her body and they shot forward.

  Zaarusha’s jaws flared with flame and she broke free of the other dragons, zipping ahead toward the forest. Smoke trailed from her jaws, enveloping Kierion.

  Kierion spluttered and coughed. “Not fair.”

  A bitter winter wind rushed through Ezaara’s hair. Tightening her hood, she glanced behind. Dragons were gaining on them.

  “A purple one, coming in fast. It’s Aria,” said Zaarusha, “and she’s bent on catching us. Let’s show her and Sofia a trick or two.”

  Ezaara melded fully with Zaarusha, letting their sathir merge in a stream of color. Fire licked through her. The snowy fields whipped by beneath them. Soon they were over the forest, heading toward the lake, the dark fir branches dusted with snow.

  Behind, the sky was teeming with dragons. Zaarusha was right: Maazini’s orange scales stood out close behind, followed by Singlar, Ajeurina and Erob. There was a dark-haired rider upon Erob. Her breath caught. Shards, he looked like Roberto. He couldn’t be back, could he? Heart pounding, she asked, “Who’s flying Erob?”

  “Tonio. He’s here for security. Erob offered to take him, because he’s fast.”

  That explained it. They were both Naobian. Disappointment knifed through her. “Erob, the council have agreed to fetch Roberto tomorrow.”

  “Good, because if they don’t go, I’ll go myself,” he sniped.

  Erob was usually good-natured, often humorous. “I get it, Erob, I really do. The council have given their word.” If they kept it. Adelina’s doubts niggled at her.

  A snort was his only reply. Erob plunged below Zaarusha and swooped up to come alongside them. Ajeurina mirrored his actions on the other side, then they were off, with Singlar and Maazini on their tails, Tomaaz yahooing.

  A sudden flash of purple above them told her that Kierion had joined them. “We caught those sluggish old snails,” quipped Riona so Ezaara could hear.

  Beyond the forest, the lake was edged with icy lace. Wings thrashed as they flew across the deep blue toward the snowy clearing. Zaarusha forged her way ahead of the others, aiming for the massive conifer. Denuded of needles, its branches were heavy with unshed cones.

  Zaarusha wheeled dangerously close, snatching a cone in her outstretched talon, then veered up into the sky. Flapping wings and dragon snorts sounded against the muted snowscape as Erob, Riona and Ajeurina darted in to grab cones.

  With a crack, a dragon knocked a branch off the tree, sending it thudding to the snow. More dragons snapped branches off in their haste to get cones.

  “Lars is clever,” Ezaara melded. “They’re clearing the dead wood for him.”

  Zaarusha rumbled, “Never underestimate Lars. Here, catch.” Zaarusha stretched her foreleg out, flinging the cone to Ezaara.

  Nearby, Sofia caught a cone from Aria. Ezaara grinned at her, trying, yet again, to be friendly.

  Without warning, Aria wheeled toward Zaarusha and roared, flames exploding from her jaws. Aria’s thoughts ripped through Ezaara’s mind. “Traitors. Anakisha’s heir has a right to rule.”

  Fierce heat engulfed them. Ezaara hunkered down behind Zaarusha’s neck.

  Zaarusha shrieked in pain, blasting Aria with fire. The queen’s shock slammed through Ezaara as they twisted out of Aria’s reach. Talons flailing, the purple dragon flew at them again, Sofia laughing on her back. With a glint of metal, Sofia threw her throwing knife.

  “Zaarusha, duck,” Ezaara screamed.

  The knife embedded itself in Zaarusha’s thigh. Her pain spiked through Ezaara.

  Sofia threw another. Zaarusha batted that knife sideways, and it spun down to the snow.

  “Oops, I slipped,” Sofia crowed. “Terribly sorry—it was an accident. That’s what you said when you gouged me.”

  Aria slashed at Zaarusha’s tail. Wings bashing Aria’s, Zaarusha darted in, ripping a gouge in her foreleg. She flipped her tail around and whipped Aria across the snout.

  Aria screech
ed and reeled back for a reprieve. But there was no reprieve. Riona dived and Kierion threw Roberto’s fishing net. It sailed through the air, landing over Aria. Maazini snatched a flailing rope at the end of the net and plunged under Aria and up the other side near Erob.

  Suddenly, Kierion was near Aria, balancing upon the base of Riona’s outstretched tail. He thrust a rope through the top of the net and scrambled up Riona’s tail, back into his saddle, so Riona could fly around the net, tugging the rope tight. Liesar’s silver scales, Handel’s bronze and Erob’s midnight-blue flashed past as they darted in to grab ropes and pull the net taut. Handel, Liesar, Maazini and Erob held ropes in their jaws, the net suspended between them. Aria struggled, her talons tangled. She fought to slash her way free, only making the ropes tighter. Her roars drowned out the yelling riders.

  “To the cage,” Lars yelled, charging past on Singlar.

  Sofia screamed, “Let me out this instant.”

  Erob melded, “Back to the race, Ezaara. Now, you have to win.”

  Zaarusha wheeled, heading across the lake. Ezaara gripped the cone so tightly, it cut into her palms. White-coated trees blurred beneath them as Zaarusha and Ezaara raced toward the basket, Lars following on Singlar. Basket at their feet, Alyssa and Derek had their bows nocked, ready to protect them.

  Ezaara melded with Lysika and Reko, showing them what had happened. “Aria and Sofia attacked us.”

  Now, there were only two dragons blocking the direct route to the basket. The others must have lagged behind, confused by Aria’s attack. A cry sounded behind her. A blur of purple was coming up fast—Kierion on Riona.

  She urged Zaarusha on.

  When Zaarusha was flush with other two dragons, Ezaara realized who they were. “Watch out, Zaarusha. That’s Alban astride Banikan and Nadira on Diran.” Ezaara’s heart sank as the riders smirked. Sofia’s cronies weren’t done causing trouble.

  When they were only a handful of dragon lengths away from the basket, Banikan and Diran closed in, hemming in Zaarusha’s wings. She roared, flames licking at Banikan. Diran flamed her back, a blast of heat passing over Ezaara. They dived, then swooped, blocking Ezaara from aiming her cone.

  Kierion and Riona passed them. They were about to win the race. Then Riona turned above the basket. Kierion gestured.

  What? Oh. Ezaara threw her cone as far as she could. It sailed through the air, hitting Riona’s hide, then clattered into the basket. Kierion’s cone thudded in after it. A cheer rose from the crowd.

  Zaarusha roared, whirling upon Banikan and Diran. The two riders innocently tossed their cones, and the dragons sped away.

  Wings flapped and riders flung their cones, then took their places at the finish line in the snow.

  By the time Tonio and Erob and their team arrived, carrying Aria and Sofia in the net, Lars was glowering. He bowed to Zaarusha, his voice carrying, “Honored Queen Zaarusha, what shall we do with Sofia and Aria?”

  Zaarusha’s snarl made the minds of every dragon at the hold flinch. “Toss them in the cage.” She roared, showing her fangs as the net-bearers approached.

  “And Alban, Banikan, Nadira and Diran?”

  “The cage as well.”

  “The cage,” announced Lars for the benefit of those without dragons to meld with. Blue guards pursued Alban and Nadira. The folk were silent as Aria and Sofia were flown away.

  Feasting

  The main cavern was swarming with people. Dragons flitted above the crowd, landing on ledges to observe the proceedings. Zaarusha thudded down on the natural rock stage that ran along one end of the cavern. The council masters and their dragons were waiting, arrayed in similar formation to the first night Ezaara had arrived here to have her imprinting bond tested by Roberto.

  “You’ve come far since then, Ezaara. Remember how terrified you were?” Zaarusha rumbled.

  “Of course I was scared. I wasn’t sure if dragons existed before I met you—and the masters looked so tough.”

  “The toughest of all was Roberto, I’ll bet.”

  “Too right. He was awful.” Her stomach churned uneasily. Anything could be happening to him.

  “Tomorrow the council will decide the best way to rescue him. Hopefully, he’s discovered what these new creatures of Zens are.” Zaarusha furled her wings.

  Or was he discovering how cruel Zens’ torture methods were? Oh shards, she was so cynical. Her nightmares were so realistic after glimpsing Death Valley, they were impairing her judgment. Ezaara slid out of the saddle.

  Lars approached, shaking Ezaara’s hand. “Well done, Ezaara. That was a fantastic display of talent.”

  “It was a measure of the queen’s skill,” Ezaara deferred.

  “And yours.” Lars turned to the crowd.

  Derek, the training master, blew the horn, and Lars waved him to the front of the stage.

  “After three moons with us, we finally declare the Queen’s Rider, Ezaara of Lush Valley, fully trained,” said Derek. “It’s been years since Zaarusha’s last rider, Anakisha, fell in battle—may her soul soar with departed dragons. You’ve seen Ezaara’s skill, her trust in the queen, both today and throughout her time with us. They have bonded exceptionally well, and she has worked hard to reach the standard expected of a Queen’s Rider. We thank her for saving Zaarusha from dragon’s bane and the traitors who tried to kill our queen.” Derek swallowed. “We owe Ezaara our allegiance.” He thumped his hand over his heart, then gestured to her. “Ezaara, please take a victory lap. Then let the feast begin. Tomorrow, all duties are canceled—except patrol.”

  Zaarusha roared. “Climb up on my neck.”

  Ezaara clambered over Zaarusha’s neck spines and straddled her neck, just below her head. Zaarusha leaped off the stage, her wings ruffling the crowd’s hair. Below, the sea of upturned faces went wild, screaming, hollering and whistling. Zaarusha spiraled up to the vaulted stone ceiling. For a moment, they hung in the air as Ezaara observed the people, as tiny as berries, below. Then the queen dived, plunging toward them. Torches guttered in their sconces when she pulled up short and landed on the stage, wings spread wide.

  Cheers and roars swept through the cavern as Ezaara dropped to the stage and gestured to Zaarusha with a flourish.

  The masters behind them clapped. It was so hollow without Roberto here. He’d trained her. He’d fostered her talent, goaded her and driven her to be better. He loved her. Ezaara clutched the teardrop, rubbing her fingers over the smooth crystal. Roberto was in such danger while they were here having a good time. Except she wasn’t. She was miserable without him.

  A gong boomed. The crowd parted to allow Benji and his kitchen staff to enter. Kierion was behind Benji, leading a team carrying a table laden with fine food. They set their table against the wall, buffet style. More teams marched in. Trust Kierion to be everywhere. Ezaara’s stomach grumbled as scents reached her—roast duck, succulent fish, spiced sweet potato. This would be a feast to remember.

  “As it should be, in your honor,” Zaarusha said.

  “Actually, it’s in your honor,” Ezaara said. “Without a queen, there’d be no Queens’ Rider.”

  Pa and Ma approached and both hugged her. “We’re so proud of you,” said Ma, eyes shining. “I know this hasn’t been easy.”

  “Well done, darling.” Pa’s gaze fastened on her necklace. “This looks so much like Anakisha’s dream catcher. A remarkable imitation. When Yanir was far away, the original enabled Anakisha to see what was happening to him in her dreams.” He turned to Ma. “That would’ve been helpful when you were in Death Valley, honey.”

  “No.” Ma shuddered. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to know what I went through.”

  Ezaara felt the color drain from her face. Anakisha’s dream catcher. Seeing through another’s eyes. It all made sense.

  “I’m glad you’re safe here.” Pa kissed Ma. “Let’s eat. Ezaara, are you coming?”

  Ezaara’s smile froze. “Um, soon.”

  As her parents descended the steps
to the cavern floor, her thoughts sped like racing dragons. She’d seen Roberto being tortured in Death Valley, right before her eyes. Then she’d seen it again in her dreams. She’d assumed her nightmares had been brought on by her brief trip to Death Valley. But what if the teardrop was Anakisha’s dream catcher? What if Roberto really had been slashed by tharuk claws coated with limplock? Limplock took three days to act. Gods, in two days, he’d be dead.

  “Ezaara.” Kierion waved at her from the floor below.

  People were milling around the tables, piling their plates with food. In a corner, musicians on the gittern, flute and drums started playing. At a nearby table, Tonio was downing wine like he was dying of thirst, slamming back a glass and reaching for another.

  Roberto could be dying. Ezaara rubbed the teardrop. Or dead already. She had to go now. “Zaarusha—”

  “It’s dangerous on our own. The council are meeting first thing in the morning.”

  “I could speak to Tonio and Lars now.”

  “Good idea.”

  Ezaara made her way down the steps and pushed through the throng. People clapped her on the back and congratulated her.

  Kierion popped up out of nowhere, beaming. “I’ve saved you a spot with your favorite food.”

  “My favorite food?”

  “Fish and sweet potato.” Kierion blushed as red as a blood-beet.

  Oh. At her very first feast here, to honor her arrival, she’d tripped and spilled food over her clothes—fish and sweet potato. “Ah, I’m not hungry.”

  “After all those stunts? I’m starving.”

  “They turned my stomach,” Ezaara lied.

  He laughed. “You’re still welcome to sit with us.”

  “I’ve some council business. I should sit with Lars.”

  The spymaster was now in a corner, embroiled in a discussion with Ma, waving his hands around and slugging back more wine. Emotions chased across his face—joy, bitterness and anger. He folded an arm across his chest and shook his head stubbornly, then suddenly stalked away from Ma to refill his glass.

  She didn’t exactly want to approach Tonio with him in such a mood. At another table, Lars was regaling people with a tale, while they listened, spellbound. She couldn’t interrupt him either. Inside her, frustration warred with social nicety.