Dragon Hero: Riders of Fire, Book Two - A Dragons' Realm novel

by Eileen Mueller

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  Dragon Hero and the Riders of Fire series are works of fiction. All characters, events and locations in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to persons or dragons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No dragons were harmed in the making of this book, although there may have been a few injuries to tharuks.

  This book is copyright. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for short excerpts for reviews, in fair use, as permitted under the Copyright Act. Dragons’ Realm, the Riders of Fire world, and its characters are copyright.

  Ezaara, Riders of Fire © 2018 Eileen Mueller

  Typesetting © Phantom Feather Press, 2018, American English

  Cover Art by Christian Bentulan © Eileen Mueller, 2018

  Dragons’ Realm Map by Ava Fairhall © Eileen Mueller, 2018

  Phantom Feather Press Logo by Geoff Popham, © Phantom Feather Press, 2014

  Paperback ISBN: 9781729088258

  Phantom Feather Press

  29 Laura Ave, Brooklyn, Wellington 6021, New Zealand

  phantomfeatherpress@gmail.com

  www.phantomfeatherpress.wordpress.com

  Magic, every time you turn the page.

  Dedication

  For Anita, my hero in so many ways.

  For Deb, who is never afraid to be herself.

  And for Mandi, who has her own special flavor of bravery.

  Table of Contents

  Map of Dragons’ Realm

  Prologue - Eighteen Years Ago

  Lush Valley

  Death Valley

  Scorned

  Through Fog

  Western Settlement

  Trapped

  Captive

  Last Stop

  Bitter Truth

  Hunted

  Tharuk Attack

  Turning Point

  A Narrow Escape

  Storm Brewing

  Snowed In

  Star Clearing

  Haven

  A Nasty Surprise

  Weathering the Storm

  Soldiering On

  Insight

  Change of Plans

  On Fire

  Slipping Away

  A Wing Down

  A Rude Awakening

  Dragons’ Hold

  A Risky Approach

  Commander Zens

  The Creature’s Ploy

  Life in Death Valley

  Piaua’s Promise

  A Terrible Discovery

  Hope Awakened

  Ezaara

  Revelation

  Tharuk Crackdown

  Closing In

  Reunion

  Giant John

  A New Path

  More Riders of Fire Adventures

  Free Short Story—Silver Dragon—Riders of Fire

  Dragon Rift —Riders of Fire, Book 3

  Eileen’s Dragon Adventures for Younger Readers

  Acknowledgements

  About Eileen

  Herbal Lore in Dragons’ Realm

  Map of Dragons’ Realm

  Prologue - Eighteen Years Ago

  Marlies strode along the tunnel, torches flickering and shadows flitting across the stone walls. Although it’d been a long day in the infirmary, she had one more duty before she could sleep. Lifting her torch, she turned down the passage to the dragon queen’s den.

  Her footfalls echoed as she passed through Anakisha’s empty sleeping chamber. Sadness washed through her. Had it only been two moons since they’d lost the Queen’s Rider? It seemed longer. There’d been many people to mourn—and dragons. Marlies shook her head. Too many deaths in one battle; and more dead and wounded in skirmishes since. She walked under the archway into Zaarusha’s den and placed the torch in a sconce.

  Zaarusha, the dragon queen, was curled in her nest, her head tucked under a wing, and her tail snug around her body. She unfurled her wings, myriad colors flickering on her scales, like rainbows in an opal. A glint of gold under the dragon’s haunches revealed her precious eggs. Zaarusha extended her neck, facing Marlies, her yellow eyes dull.

  Marlies stretched out her hand to touch the dragon queen’s snout, so they could mind-meld. She forced her thoughts to be cheery. The last thing Zaarusha needed was sadness.

  “Thank you for coming,” Zaarusha’s voice thrummed in Marlies’ mind.

  “How are your dragonets doing today?”

  “My babies are fine.”

  Babies. Marlies flinched.

  “Only a few more weeks until they hatch.” Zaarusha’s sigh echoed like a rock clattering down a mountainside. “Syan will never see our dragonets. I miss him: his companionship; flying together. Hunting.” The queen flicked her tongue out.

  “Did anyone bring you food?”

  “They did, but I had no appetite.”

  Marlies scratched the queen’s eye ridges. “Would you like to hunt tonight? A meal would do you good. It’s been a while.”

  “A week.” The dragon’s belly rumbled.

  Marlies smiled. “You are hungry. Sorry, I couldn’t come sooner. Several of our wounded have infections and fevers, so I haven’t left the infirmary for days.”

  “I can always rely on you.” Zaarusha gazed at her, eyes unblinking. “You’ll take care of my eggs?”

  “Of course. I’m not Syan, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Remember not to touch them.” Zaarusha butted Marlies’ shoulder with her snout. “I won’t be long.”

  “The fresh air will do you good.”

  Careful not to crush the eggs, the dragon queen rose to her feet and stepped out of her nest. She sprang to the open mouth of her den and, with a flash of her colorful wings, leaped off the mountainside and was swallowed by darkness.

  Marlies turned back to the nest. Four golden eggs, as tall as a boy of ten summers, were nestled in the hay. The torch’s flames made their translucent shells glow. Through the tough membrane of the eggs, dragonets were visible. The green flexed its wing nubs. Marlies held her breath, watching the magical creature.

  “Zaarusha’s babies.” Unconsciously, her hand went to her belly. She swallowed. These were the last of the royal offspring. Syan, Zaarusha’s mate, had been killed in battle. His rider, Yanir, too. Anakisha and Zaarusha had tried to save them, but Anakisha had fallen from dragonback, plunging into their enemies’ hands. Zaarusha had still been carrying eggs, so, not wanting to risk the lives of her babies, she’d been forced to abandon her rider and her mate and return to Dragons’ Hold.

  For two moons, the Hold had been grieving—but no one as hard as Zaarusha. She whimpered when she slept, and keened by day. The only things keeping her clinging to life were her duty to the realm and the beautiful creatures moving within these fragile shells.

  For Marlies, seeing the dragonets was like walking on glittering shards. Their beauty transfixed her but cut deeply. Married for three years now, she and Hans had no children. True, she was still young, only in her nineteenth year, but something was wrong.

  Although she’d healed other barren women using herbal remedies, she couldn’t heal herself. Only Hans knew the herbs she’d tried, the rituals by full moon and the tears she’d shed in his arms. And not even he kne
w of her bitter tears when she was alone. Every babe born at Dragons’ Hold gave her reason to rejoice and cause for pain. Royal dragonets were no exception.

  All gangly limbs and neck, the orange dragonet turned over. The deep blue dragon baby opened its jaws. The green wriggled. In the smallest shell, the purple dragonet was curled in a ball, its wings folded tight against its back. It was so delicate, so fragile, somehow endearing.

  Her breath a whisper, Marlies watched it sleep.

  It was still for a long time.

  Perhaps it wasn’t sleeping. Perhaps something was wrong.

  Marlies moved closer, but recalled Zaarusha’s warning. “Remember not to touch them.”

  As if it sensed her, the purple dragonet woke.

  A faint humming came from the egg. Marlies’ breath caught. She leaned closer, her nose a hand’s breadth from the golden shell. If only she had her own babe to hold, to croon to. She caught herself humming back to Zaarusha’s babe. Why not? She ached to have a baby. Why shouldn’t she sing to Zaarusha’s dragonet?

  The dragonet pushed against the thin gold membrane, seeking her. First its snout, and then its body. Its crooning grew louder.

  Was it calling her?

  The dragonet’s eyes pleaded with her.

  Unable to help herself, Marlies sang a lullaby.

  The baby dragon’s music swelled, drawing Marlies closer, wrapping around her. The lonely, empty aching inside her eased. Her fingertips brushed the shell. She gasped in shock, but before she could draw her hand away, a heartbeat pulsed through the membrane, making her fingers tickle. Euphoria swept through her. Marlies laughed, like she hadn’t in years.

  The dragonet’s humming rose in pitch then fell—it was laughing, as if they were sharing a joke.

  Marlies lay her hands against the shell and closed her eyes, focusing on the voice and the pulse of the creature before her. Her hands filled with energy, her head with music. The stone floor swayed beneath her feet. Marlies felt as light as a petal drifting on a breeze, as radiant as a star.

  The dragonet’s pulse grew stronger, bounding against her hands. Energy ran up her arms to her core. Then it stopped.

  Marlies’ eyes flew open.

  The dragonet was lying on its back, floating in the shell, its wings limp beneath it. She pressed her hands against the shell. No hum. No pulse.

  “Please, please, no.” Her voice caught. She rubbed her hands against the shell, willing the dragonet to move.

  But there was only silence.

  Stillness.

  Nothing beneath her hands.

  Marlies’ mouth opened and shut. With a strangled sob, she fled.

  Lush Valley

  Tomaaz adjusted the sack of potatoes on his shoulder and stepped over a wayward chicken. He frowned. What was Lofty up to? In a corner of the crowded marketplace, Lofty had his head together with Old Bill and the pair of them were grinning like thieves. Rather Lofty than him. He didn’t want to go near Old Bill. The only decent thing about him was his cloth—bolts of bright turquoise seascapes, blazing-gold-and-orange birds and strange creatures and plants—transported into Lush Valley from far over the Grande Alps. From exotic places Tomaaz had never been, like Naobia on the southern coast, Montanara or Spanglewood Forest.

  One day he and Lofty would leave this valley and explore those far-off places. It’s not like he planned to lug Pa’s vegetables around for the rest of his life.

  Old Bill shook Lofty’s hand, while beside them, Bill’s drab daughter was lost among the bright cloth, staring at her feet. That was nothing new. Lovina was always staring at the floor. Tomaaz had never heard her mumble more than a word or two. Oh well, he had more exciting things to do than keep an eye on Lofty.

  Like delivering potatoes.

  Tomaaz dodged a bunch of children playing tag, and headed for the baker’s stall, passing over the sack. “These should be good for your potato patties, Pieter,” he said. “Pa’s given you our best.”

  “As always.” Pieter chuckled, and carried the potatoes to his cart.

  “Thank you,” said Beatrice, Pieter’s daughter, flashing a smile, then ducking her head.

  Inhaling the aroma of pastries and pies, Tomaaz smiled back at her. With Pieter distracted, it was now or never. He raked a hand through his unruly blond curls. “Beatrice, would you like to go for a walk? Later? I—I mean, after you’ve finished?”

  “I’d love to. I can bring you an apricot pastry if you’d like.” Beatrice gazed up at him through her red lashes. “I made them myself.”

  Red. Even her lashes were red. And her cheeks now, too. Tomaaz grinned. Asking her had been worth the gamble—she liked him. “Thanks. I’ll come by after we’ve packed up.”

  Her smile lit her eyes, making his day.

  Humming, Tomaaz strode through the marketplace past Klaus’ leatherwear stand. The enticing aroma of cheese melted on slabs of bread made his stomach grumble.

  Whistling nonchalantly, Lofty fell into step with him.

  Tomaaz rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lofty. Tell me, what were you and Old Bill up to?”

  “Nothing.” Lofty gave him that innocent look of his. “Just ordering more silk for Ma’s scarves.”

  “Of course you were.” Tomaaz snorted. They skirted a goat pen and wandered past a weapons stand, stopping to admire a knife.

  “Such a beauty,” Lofty said, weighing the knife in his hand. “But way too expensive.” Suddenly, Lofty dropped the knife, sucking in his breath. “There she is. Across the square.”

  Lofty had a sixth sense when it came to Tomaaz’s sister. Like a homing pigeon, he always knew where she was. It’d been moons since Lofty had admitted to Tomaaz that he liked his twin sister. And Lofty had been trying to catch Ezaara’s eye ever since—usually failing.

  “You’re not going to tease Ezaara again, are you?” Tomaaz asked, shaking his head.

  “No, you are!” Lofty beamed. “I’ve hit upon the perfect plan. You challenge her to a sword fight, and I’ll swoop in and save her. She’ll finally see me as a hero.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Go on, do it for me.” Lofty was eager, like a bird bouncing on its perch. “I’ve got to try something.”

  Tomaaz hesitated. “Here in the square? Feathers will fly if Klaus catches us.”

  “Beatrice will be watching.”

  Tomaaz hesitated. Lofty had him. “All right, but if this doesn’t work, promise me you won’t cook up any more mad schemes.”

  “I promise.” Lofty’s solemn look didn’t fool Tomaaz one bit. “Come on,” he said, “it’s just a bit of fun.”

  Tomaaz led Lofty further away from Klaus’ stall—there was no point in asking for trouble. They trailed Ezaara as she examined plaited onions and garlic wreaths.

  “Go on, now,” Lofty urged, “before Ezaara notices us.”

  Beatrice had a good view from here. It was as good a time as any. Tomaaz slid his sword out of its scabbard. The scrape cut through the buzz in the market square.

  Ezaara spun, dropping her basket. In a heartbeat, her sword was in her hand, her blade gleaming in the sun.

  She’d always had good reactions. People backed out of the way, clearing a ring around Tomaaz and his sister. He lunged, striking fast. Ezaara parried, then feinted, but it didn’t fool him. He pressed forward with a series of quick strokes, driving her back toward an apple cart.

  “Take five to one for Tomaaz,” Lofty yelled among the clink of coppers.

  That idiot! Betting against Ezaara wasn’t going to win her over. Tomaaz lunged again. That was close, he’d nearly scratched her face. That wouldn’t impress Beatrice or Ezaara. He thrust again, but Ezaara danced out of reach, then lunged back at him.

  She must’ve been practicing. Her counterattacks were coming hard and fast. Tomaaz blocked with power, driving his sword against hers. Dodging, Ezaara bumped Bill’s table and bolts of cloth went flying. She leaped over them, fleeing.

  Tomaaz chased her.

  She whirled to face
him, blade high. “Seen any pretty girls today? Look, there’s one behind you.”

  If she’d seen him talking to Beatrice, he’d never hear the end of it. Ignoring her jibe, he deflected her sword and attacked again. When was Lofty going to jump in? This wasn’t supposed to go on so long. And surely Beatrice had seen enough by now?

  “Any more bets?” Lofty called to the onlookers. He seemed more interested in taking coin than rescuing Ezaara.

  Ezaara was slowing, tiring. Maybe that’s what Lofty was waiting for. Tomaaz slashed his blade at his sister’s torso.

  Ezaara stumbled, landing on her knee. “Ow!”

  Oh gods, hopefully he hadn’t hurt her. “Ezaara, are you all right?”

  Driving her sword under his arm, Ezaara tapped his shirt. “I did it!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “I beat you.”

  Whistles and yells erupted around them. She’d fooled him, but it was a fair win.

  “Go, Ezaara!” Lofty called.

  She was beaming.

  Maybe Lofty’s strategy, whatever it was, would work today.

  Tomaaz glanced toward the baker’s stand. Beatrice wasn’t there. All this for nothing. Oh well, at least they were going for a walk together, later. For now, he had to make Ezaara feel good about her win.

  “Aagh, beaten,” he groaned, sheathing his sword, and wiping sweat from his brow.

  “You chose to fight me here.” Ezaara’s eyes blazed.

  She’d fought well.

  Grinning, she stepped back, sliding her sword into her scabbard.

  Around them, coppers changed hands. He caught a glimpse of Beatrice on the edge of the crowd, smiling at him. Tomaaz’s chest swelled with pride. She had seen him fight. And it looked as if she was glad for Ezaara’s win, too. Not only was Beatrice beautiful, she was kind-hearted.

  Lofty clapped Tomaaz on the back. Then he kissed Ezaara, right on the lips. What? That wasn’t what they’d agreed. The crowd oohed.

  Old Bill nudged his way forward and gave Lofty a handful of grimy coppers.

  Lofty punched his fist in the air.

  That’s what they’d been up to! Rigging the fight to make money. And probably betting Lofty would kiss Ezaara. Lofty hadn’t had a chance to rescue Ezaara because she’d won in her own right, but he’d still embarrassed her. Ezaara would never fall for Lofty like that. Why couldn’t he see it?