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

by Eileen Mueller

  That was an awful violent death. How had Pa’s mother felt, taking her dead daughter home?

  “That day, I swore I’d become a dragon rider and fight tharuks.” Pa strode to a drawer and pulled out their hunting knives, tossing one to Tomaaz. “Keep your weapons near when you sleep. If tharuks attack, we’ll meet them head on.” Pa gave a grim chuckle. “I hoped that it would never come to this, but it’s the reason Ma and I taught you and Ezaara to fight.”

  “You what?” Tomaaz gaped. “All those races, the endless archery practice, the sword fights, were a ruse to train us for combat?” He’d never thought their bouts were any more than fun.

  “Think of it as preparation for life.”

  A life he’d never imagined. “How do you fight a tharuk?”

  “Son. It’s late. Tomorrow I’ll teach you, Lofty, and anyone else who’s keen, how to fight those monsters. The best we can do now is get some rest.”

  It took Tomaaz forever to get to sleep. When he finally drifted off, he dreamed of Ezaara, battling monsters from dragonback, high on a mountain pass.

  Tomaaz awoke to pounding.

  Tharuks! It had to be! Within moments, he had his sword and knives at his belt and was tying his boot laces. He rushed into the living room.

  Pa was frozen, staring at the door. The wood was quivering under constant hammering.

  “Tharuks?” Tomaaz asked.

  Pa turned. “Villagers.”

  “So, you can see through wood?”

  Pa nodded. “It’s called dragon sight.”

  “You mean—”

  Pa chuckled, striding to the door. “I saw you sneaking out to meet Lofty on many occasions!”

  What next? Nothing was normal anymore. Not even Pa’s eyes.

  “Hopefully, the villagers have seen reason about the beacon fire and are here to train,” Pa said.

  “In the middle of the night?” Tomaaz grabbed his arm. “You saw how angry they were.”

  Pa shrugged. “Maybe they’ve just finished their meeting. You know how Klaus goes on.” He opened the door.

  It was only settlers, not bloodthirsty tharuks. Crowded around the door, a few were holding torches. Their faces were tight with fear. Behind them, a crowd spread across the grass, many in the shadows. There must be fifty people here—men, women and littlings.

  “Good evening,” Pa called.

  Evening? It was after midnight.

  The smithy stepped to the front. “Hans.”

  “It’s been a big day,” Pa said evenly. “How can I help?”

  “You said you saw a beacon fire. That a dragon set it alight and tharuks are coming. We want to know more.”

  Tomaaz scanned the crowd. Pieter and Beatrice were here, too. He gave her a smile, but she looked too worried to smile back. Perhaps he could slip out and talk to her when they were done with whatever everyone was here for.

  “Atop the Western Pass there’s a pyre, always ready in case tharuks breach the pass,” Pa replied. “I saw it burning. Tharuks might be here in a day or two.”

  The smithy jerked his head back toward the Western Grande Alps. “Why a dragon, Hans?” Eyebrows raised, his face was etched with curiosity. “Why not the guards?”

  The moments stretched out like a man on a rack.

  Would Pa tell them what he really thought? Surely not.

  Then Pa answered. “The fire seemed a lot larger than a standard pyre. We saw the dragon yesterday. It flew in that direction. It seemed logical that the dragon could’ve spotted tharuks and tried to warn us.”

  “Logical?” A voice from the shadows cried in derision. “Since when is a friendly dragon logical?” Bill swaggered into the torchlight, his face contorted into a mask of hate. “Might be logical for a dragon lover!”

  Someone jeered.

  Hans held his hands up. “We must prepare for attack. Not fight amongst each other. We need to stand together against this outside threat.”

  “A threat you’ve made up,” Bill sneered. “Tharuks aren’t coming. The truth is that Hans gave his daughter to a dragon.”

  “Now, why would I do that?” Pa said, shifting his weight to move back inside the house.

  The smithy stepped forward, poking a finger at Pa. “You tell us, Hans. Where’s Ezaara?” His burly chest rose and fell. “We demand to see her. Prove Bill wrong.”

  “It’s terrible,” Pa said. “Terrible. She caught pilzkrank today and Marlies had to take her to the infirmary at Western Settlement.”

  “Why?” yelled a settler. “Marlies healed my boy of pilzkrank last summer.”

  That’s right. Little Adam had eaten infected fungi last year and nearly died. Tension radiated off the crowd. Bill wanted blood. Tomaaz could sense it.

  Pa’s shoulders slumped and he gave a gutsy sigh. “Well, Ezaara was worse. We nearly lost Adam. I didn’t want to lose her, so Marlies rode off this evening.”

  “So convenient!” Bill said.

  Pa stepped inside, pushing the door shut. But the smithy was there, his weight heaving the door open and sending Pa sprawling on the floorboards.

  Tomaaz’s heart hammered.

  “Seize him,” Bill yelled. “We know what to do with filthy dragon lovers!”

  With a cry, men surged into their home. The smithy dragged Pa out of the house by the ankles, his back and head thumping down the steps.

  That had to hurt, but Pa didn’t cry out. “Hey,” yelled Tomaaz, drawing his sword.

  He was instantly surrounded by a ring of men.

  “Now, come on, Tomaaz,” said Pieter soothingly. “You don’t want to get hurt. We understand you standing by your father, but for now, you’re innocent. Make one move with that sword and that’s no longer the case.” Although his tone was reasonable, the threat in his words was as plain as the sword in Tomaaz’s hands.

  Tomaaz couldn’t help Pa if he was in jail too, so he sheathed his sword.

  “Hand us your weapons, son,” Pieter said.

  Outside, the sound of a mallet cracked the air.

  “I’m not your son,” Tomaaz snapped.

  “Nor will you ever be,” Pieter barked back. “You’re the son of a filthy dragon friend.”

  Fuming, Tomaaz shouldered through the ring and barged out the door, through the people milling outside their house. The smack of the mallet rang out. As he broke through the crowd, horror crept through Tomaaz’s belly.

  Two men had driven a stake into the ground. Others were piling dry brush around it. Pa was struggling in the grip of the smithy while four men gagged him and tied his hands and feet to the stake.

  Gods, they were going to burn him. No trial. No witnesses, just a dumb pig-headed burning in the middle of the night. Tomaaz frantically scanned the crowd for Klaus. Nowhere to be seen.

  There! A flash of red hair in the torchlight.

  Desperate, Tomaaz ran toward Beatrice, seizing her arm. “Beatrice, please, fetch Klaus. Hurry.”

  Her eyes assessed him coolly. “Why, Tomaaz? Do you think you can talk your way out of this mess?”

  “They’re going to kill Pa.” He clutched Beatrice’s arm tighter. “Please!”

  “He consorted with dragons! He deserves to die!” Beatrice spat on Tomaaz’s hand. “Now take your hand off me or I’ll scream, and they’ll burn you too.” Her face was twisted with venom, ugly.

  Tomaaz dropped her arm, stumbling backward.

  Someone shoved him. He fell. A boot thudded into his ribs. He scrambled to his feet and dodged through the crush of bodies. Over the backs of several brawny men, Pa was now gagged and tied to the stake, on top of a pile of tinder-dry brush. Men were throwing tallow onto the brush. One torch and Pa would be in flames—burning alive.

  Tomaaz’s skin crawled as he inched closer. He’d fight his way through, stick every man like a pig. He’d rather die than let Pa burn. He drew his knife from his belt.

  As if he could read Tomaaz’s mind, Pa’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.

  Pa didn’t want him to fight? The
idiot! Tomaaz slipped his knife back into its sheath, hand at the ready.

  “So, who would like to see this dragon scum die?” Bill roared, leaping upon the brush and squeezing his fingers around Pa’s throat.

  Tomaaz’s hand flew to his knife handle. One well-aimed throw and Bill would be dead.

  “Don’t you even think about it,” a voice whispered, making his neck hairs rise. A blade pricked his ribs. Pieter.

  “Wait,” Ernst called, barging through the ring of men around the unlit pyre.

  Where had he come from? He hadn’t been here when the others had knocked on the door.

  “We haven’t heard any solid proof against Hans yet,” Ernst stated.

  “His daughter’s gone,” roared Bill, eyes glinting yellow. “No one’s seen her since the beast appeared.” The flickering torches cast demonic shadows across Bill’s face.

  “And his wife has left too,” someone yelled from the crowd.

  “He’s a dragon lover,” called a woman.

  “Sacrificed his daughter to appease the beast!” screeched another

  “That’s just rumor,” Ernst bellowed. “What will Klaus do, if he finds you’ve burned one of his best farmers because of gossip?”

  “What will Klaus do if he finds out we’ve been harboring a dragon lover?” Bill bellowed back. “Burn him now and get it over with!”

  More yelling broke out.

  “Pieter,” Bill called. “Come up here and show everyone the proof you have against Hans.”

  Proof? What had Pa left lying around?

  “I’m a little busy,” Pieter yelled back, the increased pressure of his blade making Tomaaz flinch. “But my daughter will bring it.”

  Men stepped aside to let Beatrice through. She stood in front of the stake, facing the villagers. From her pocket, she drew a scrap of cloth. “This cloth was in Hans’ barn! It’s covered with dragons—bronze ones, silver and red. This proves he covets dragons. Loves them!”

  How had Tomaaz ever thought she was beautiful? Her face was full of hate.

  “Show me that cloth!” Tomaaz shouted. “Let me see it.”

  “I, too, would like to examine it,” Klaus said, and the villagers parted like wheat stalks before an ox.

  Where had Klaus come from? Then Tomaaz spotted Lofty, panting, near where Klaus had been. No doubt Ernst, on the neighboring farm, had seen the villagers’ torches and sent Lofty for Klaus.

  Reaching the pyre, Klaus snatched the cloth from Beatrice. His face was thunderous. “Tomaaz! Come here!”

  Pieter shoved Tomaaz.

  He ran to Klaus, pushing through wide-shouldered men.

  “Is this one of your pranks?” Klaus hissed. “Do you consider this funny?”

  “No, sir.” Tomaaz put his hand out for the cloth. Klaus thrust it at him. Tomaaz couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath as he saw the pattern. “Bill was showing this cloth to Ezaara at the marketplace today. It’s Bill’s, not Pa’s.”

  Klaus raised an eyebrow and plucked the scrap of fabric back. “Bill says it’s your pa’s and you say it’s Bill’s. Very convenient that you’re blaming each other. And no one has yet cleared up the mystery of where Ezaara has been since your fight at the marketplace.”

  Holding the cloth high, Klaus turned to the crowd. “Whom shall I believe?”

  The villagers yelled, waving torches.

  Frantically, Tomaaz scanned their faces. “I know!” Tomaaz tugged Klaus sleeve. “Sir, I know how you can determine this!”

  “How?”

  Tomaaz gestured to a woman at the back of the crowd. “She saw Ezaara shoving the cloth back at Bill. She may recognize it.”

  Klaus motioned the woman forward.

  “Tomaaz says you’ve seen this cloth before,” Klaus stated.

  She frowned, shaking her head.

  “Earlier today, in the marketplace,” Tomaaz interjected. “You bought a length of cloth from Bill, green with a wheat pattern.”

  “So I did.” She nodded. “What of it?”

  “Before you purchased your fabric, Ezaara was at the stand. Did you see her pass something back to Bill?”

  “Oh, that!” Comprehension flashed over her face. “Yes, I did. She had her head down, fascinated with something she was holding. When she noticed I was near, she thrust a piece of material into Bill’s hands, telling him, ‘No, thank you.’ I did wonder what had captivated her.”

  “So, do you recognize this fabric?” Klaus asked.

  “It was black with gold and red, that’s what I saw.” The woman held out her hand. “Let me have another look.”

  Klaus passed her the cloth.

  “Yes, it’s definitely possible that this is the same piece I saw today.”

  “Possible,” yelled Bill. “She’s not sure. That’s not proof! Not like we have against Hans.”

  Klaus narrowed his eyes. “What proof do you have?”

  “Lovina,” Bill called, charging through the crowd and dragging Lovina forward. Tomaaz winced. Bill’s grip had to hurt. Sure enough, when Bill removed his fingers, the imprint stayed on her upper arm—her thin pitiful arm, covered in goosebumps. She was wearing her ragged shift—no protection against the chill of the night. “Lovina saw Hans’ daughter leaving on that dragon,” Bill said. “Tell them, Lovina.”

  She hadn’t, had she? Tomaaz’s pulse hammered at his throat. He met his father’s eyes, bright over the gag.

  Eyes downcast, Lovina murmured something incomprehensible.

  “Go on, girl,” Bill demanded. “Speak!”

  Lovina opened her mouth, then shrugged and stayed silent.

  “Girl, answer,” Bill growled.

  There was a threatening edge to Bill’s voice that Tomaaz didn’t like. Before he could think, Tomaaz blurted, “Tell the truth, Lovina.”

  From behind Lovina’s matted hair, a glimmer of hope shone, then her face was blank again and she slumped.

  Had he imagined that glimpse?

  “Talk!” Bill grabbed the back of Lovina’s dress. She pulled away and stumbled, the worn fabric ripping, leaving Bill clutching shreds.

  Hands outstretched, Lovina fell. Tomaaz jumped forward, catching her. He gaped at her exposed back. A crisscrossed mess of wounds marred her skin where she’d been whipped. Fresh, red lacerations in raw flesh. Lash marks festering with crusty, flaking scabs. Pale-pink scars were layered over faded white ones.

  Tomaaz stared in horror.

  Shoving Bill aside, Klaus pulled Lovina away from Tomaaz, draping a protective arm around her. “We must find a healer,” he croaked. “Lovina, who did this? Did Bill whip you?”

  Lovina nodded, eyes flat.

  “Did anyone else whip you?” Klaus asked.

  She shook her head, greasy hair flopping around her face.

  “Bill is sentenced to ninety days’ imprisonment for whipping his daughter,” Klaus’s voice boomed. “Seize him!”

  Bill lunged, snatching a torch. He threw it onto the pyre. “Dragon lover!” he screeched, racing off into the dark fields. Men sped after him.

  For an instant, Tomaaz stood, rooted, as the pyre flared to life around his father’s feet.

  Flames licked Pa’s boots. Pa tugged and jerked, but he was bound fast.

  Tomaaz ran, stomping through the fire. He whipped out his knife and slashed at the ropes, but they wouldn’t give. Angling his knife against the rope, he sawed. Sparks flew onto his breeches. Heat scorched through his boots. His legs were getting hot. Smoke smarted his eyes. He kept sawing. Just a few more fibers.

  “Keep cutting,” yelled Ernst, there beside him with Lofty, stamping at the base of the pyre.

  “Help Tomaaz!” bellowed Klaus, throwing his jerkin on the fire to douse it. But the jerkin flared to life, flames devouring it.

  Villagers jumped on the pyre, stomping on the flames.

  Pa yanked and the ropes around his hands gave. He tugged his gag free, screaming as fire licked up his legs. Tomaaz stomped too, trying to see where Pa’s legs were tied.
Smoke stung, blurring his vision. In desperation, he slashed through the flames at the base of the stake.

  Pa pulled hard. The ropes around his ankles gave way. He leaped off the pyre, stumbling onto the grass. Ernst chased after him, rolling him to douse the fire.

  Then Lofty was there, pulling Tomaaz to the ground, rolling him, smothering the flames on his breeches. Until he felt the grass on his skin, he hadn’t even noticed that the fabric had burned through. His legs were in agony.

  But if his were sore, Pa’s must be horrendous.

  §

  Hans groaned. Shards, his legs hurt. And his hands were throbbing, too. He lay on his side, his cheek in the damp grass, grateful for the cool relief. He’d been in worse scrapes and survived, although it had been a while.

  Thank the Egg, Tomaaz had acted so quickly. He could still feel the vibrations of Tomaaz’s sawing shuddering down the stake against his back. The wicked heat on his legs.

  Hans gritted his teeth to stop himself from yelling as Ernst undid his boots and eased them off, but a groan still escaped him. The night air wafted over his searing feet.

  “These won’t be much use anymore.” Ernst clucked his tongue, dropping the boots. “Thank the Gods, you had these on. Anything else and you wouldn’t be walking for a moon.”

  The pain. Hans let out a long breath. Gods. And another.

  Klaus’ voice broke through. “Pick him up and take him to the house. Anyone with healing skills—or proof—may accompany us. We have yet to get to the bottom of this.”

  Hans groaned again. This wasn’t over yet.

  §

  Tomaaz made his way back to the house with Lofty and Klaus supporting him on either side. Lovina followed them. They trailed Pa, who was being carried by the smithy and Pieter—the very men who’d wanted to burn him at the stake. Hopefully, they’d seen Bill’s true colors and changed their minds.

  Ana appeared, carrying healing supplies. “Are you all right, Tomaaz?” She took Lovina by the hand, bringing her along.