She snatched her bowl and spoon from him. Within moments, she’d downed a few spoonfuls and put the bowl down, clutching her stomach.
She’d eaten so little. What had Bill fed her? How had she survived?
§
Although Tomaaz’s stories were funny, over the last eight years with Bill, the well of laughs inside Lovina had run dry. How could she ever feel anything again? Except endless pain and the weight of drudgery. And the gray, pressing her flat against the ground, all fire gone out of her, bending her to Bill’s will.
Lovina’s fog seemed thinner. Or was it because Tomaaz was so near that she could see the startling green of his eyes? He watched her, weaving a peaceful melody with his quiet words.
Then he stopped.
Beyond the window, birds called. The silence in the room stretched. His eyes on hers, Tomaaz slowly reached out. Lovina wanted to shrink back, but the kindness in his gaze pinned her.
“Lovina.” His touch was gentle as he prized her fingers open. “Lovina,” he whispered, “take the clear-mind and free yourself.”
She shouldn’t trust anyone, but she parted her lips and popped the berries in her mouth.
He took her cup of water from the bedside and drank deeply from it, then passed it to her. His message was clear: if it’s poisoned, I’ll die with you.
She clutched the cold metal of the cup and swigged water down her parched throat. It was cool, refreshing. Pure—not tinged with numlock, like the awful stuff Bill gave her.
Tomaaz smiled, sunlight catching in his blond hair. He leaned back against the wall, wincing as he moved his legs, and fell asleep.
Gradually, the fog drifted from Lovina’s vision until she could see him clearly for the first time. His sleeping eyes were fringed with blond lashes and he was smiling faintly in his sleep. His tousled hair hung across his shoulders, which rose and fell as he breathed. His hands had callouses from hard work, but were clean, and his nails were neatly trimmed.
Lovina glanced at her own. The nails that weren’t ripped and torn were pitted with black grime. Her hands were scarred where Bill had burnt her with hot coals when she’d been too slow making his swayweed tea. And she had callouses, too, many more than Tomaaz.
There was a slight change in Tomaaz’s breathing.
Lovina looked up, trapped by his green gaze.
The fog on her feelings lifted, and something tight unfurled inside her chest.
Western Settlement
Tharuk 458 slugged back the last of its ale and stomped across the road to pee in the forest. At the sound of bird wings, it looked up. An old crow was flapping haphazardly, losing height. As it neared, the crow squawked Zen’s two-note call. It wanted to talk. Stepping out onto the road, 458 held its arm out so the crow could land. The silly bird was so tired, it dropped in the dirt at 458’s feet.
Picking the crow up, 458 touched its furry fingers to the bird’s skull. Zens had drilled his tharuks for weeks, teaching them how to mind-meld with these daft birds. Sometimes their messages were garbled, but this crow’s message was clear. “Find this tall female with black hair.” The bird relayed the woman’s image and scent through its memories.
Zens’ stones did that. Implanted in the birds’ heads, they allowed birds to mind-meld when touching someone, and enhanced these puny bird-brains’ sense of smell—useful for a tracker. His nostrils twitched out of habit, trying to catch the elusive smell of this woman, but he couldn’t. A dragon rider, she’d make a fine prize for Zens, alive or dead.
The bird croaked under its fingers. “Alive,” it melded. “The spy said capture her alive.”
“Of course,” melded the tracker. That still left scope for torture. After their troop’s ruined infiltration into Lush Valley, he and his underlings had been killing time in the tavern, rather than returning to Commander Zens. Losing an entire troop on the Western Pass was not an incident Zens could laugh off. Hands would be severed. Yes, hands and feet, not just a harmless ear or toe. Heads could roll.
“Not finished,” the bird croaked in his mind. “This is the new Queen’s Rider.”
A light-haired female shot into his mind. He knew that one—she’d been riding the beast that had slaughtered his troop, flaming them, high in the mountain pass, just two days ago. The crow squawked again. Another message? 458 kept his hands on the bird’s head.
“The Queen’s Rider is the dark-haired woman’s daughter,” the crow said.
Good, it would make the dark female’s suffering even more enjoyable, knowing he was avenging his troops. “Where is this dark-haired female? How can I find her?” he asked.
“On her way here,” the crow replied.
Thick globules of hunting saliva dribbled off 458’s tusks. When she got here, 458 would be ready.
§
After two weary days, Marlies reined Star in near the ring road around Western Settlement. Her backside was aching, her back was sore, and Star needed a decent rest. While Star cropped tufts of grass at the forest’s edge, Marlies dismounted and crept forward, peering through the foliage. On the other side of the road, bright lamplight shone through the windows of Nick’s inn. Voices and laughter drifted through an open shutter. The clack of nukils meant a game was going on in the taproom. A cart rumbled along the road, loaded with hay, and a lone rider or two passed, making Star prick up her ears.
Marlies ate some freshweed to mask her scent, waiting for it to take effect. Her years of being a Dragon Corps spy for Tonio and Zaarusha had taught her stealth. That beacon fire had been a clear warning. Anything could be waiting.
When the road and the inn’s grounds were clear, Marlies took Star into the stable yards, settling her into a stall, feeding and watering her and brushing her down. She scratched her mare’s nose. “Thank you, girl.” Her horse would never make it over the Western Alps, so she’d be going on foot from here. Star nuzzled her hand. Marlies gave her one last pat and, with stinging eyes, left the stables.
Ezaara was gone. As the daughter of a dragonet killer, she’d be facing scorn and prejudice. And Tomaaz and Hans would soon be in danger. She could lose everyone and still fail Zaarusha.
Zaarusha’s words sprang to mind, making her insides churn. You fled—that was an act of cowardice. She had no one but herself to blame, and who was she to complain? The queen had lost everyone she loved: her rider, Anakisha; her mated dragon, Syan; his rider, Yanir; her purple dragonet; and now, the latest blow, her son.
Marlies straightened her shoulders. She had to try, for her queen’s sake. And if she succeeded, somewhere out there, her silver-scaled Liesar was waiting. She slipped through the shadows to the back door of the inn and opened it a crack. Good, no one was around. She stepped inside. Now, to find Nick.
The kitchen door burst open, and a gangly figure bowled out, laden with platters. As the door swung shut behind him, his eyebrows shot up. “Marlies?” he whispered.
“Hello, Nick.” He was leaner, but his eyes still danced with merriment, and that ropey scar from a tharuk’s claws still twisted across his left cheek and down his neck. Twenty years ago, she’d managed to stop him bleeding out, but the result wasn’t pretty.
“Wait here a moment,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” As he opened the taproom door, the stench of rot wafted out. A guttural growl made her neck prickle.
Tharuks—here in Nick’s inn. Years ago, Nick had been a loyal dragon friend. Had he turned? Half her instincts screamed to flee, and the other half said to trust him. Paralyzed, Marlies hesitated.
The taproom door opened and Nick came back out. “Let’s get you a room before someone discovers you’re here.” He whisked her up the stairs and ushered her inside a room, closing the door behind him.
Weary, Marlies sank into a chair. “Since when do you serve them?”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “Since they turned up two days ago, telling me they’d kill my family if I didn’t.”
Two days ago—when Zaarusha had come. Was he telling the truth? “How many trackers, mi
nd-benders and grunts?”
He grinned. “Just like the old days. Always sharp, weren’t you?” His face grew serious. “Three tharuks: one tracker—a big mean-looking cur—and two dull-witted grunts. They’re rooming downstairs.” Nick leaned in. “A crow arrived yesterday and, since then, they’ve been asking around town after a tall dark-haired woman. They’ve checked every tavern in town.”
Marlies frowned. “Tharuks have trained crows to carry messages?”
“There was no message tube tied to the crow’s leg. My son, Urs, saw the tracker touching the crow’s head. He thinks tharuks can mind-meld with them.”
Strange. But then, why would Bill have been carrying a crow? And what about the bird that had swooped over her as she’d left Lush Valley? Bill’s malicious gaze still made her flesh crawl. Could it have been his bird that Urs had seen?
“I’m sorry, Marlies, but there’s worse news.” Nick shook his head. “Since the tracker melded with that bird, it has been sniffing all around the village. I think it’s got your scent.”
A chill skittered across Marlies’ shoulders. If tharuks took her, she’d never save Zaarusha’s son. She stood, pulling her rucksack back on her shoulders. “I have to leave.”
Nick put a hand on her arm. “Marlies, you look exhausted. Stay and rest. I’ll drop some woozy weed into the tharuks’ next ale.”
This was it: she either trusted Nick or she didn’t. Actually, she didn’t have much choice. She was as worn out as Hans’ holey old boots. She’d sleep with her dagger on her pillow tonight. Marlies slumped back in the chair. “And then what? I sneak out at the crack of dawn while they’re still out cold?”
“Let me think about it. I’ll meddle with their drinks, then bring you up some dinner. We can talk then.”
“Be careful, Nick. Don’t let them catch you.”
When Nick left, Marlies locked the door and checked the window. It was a bit squeaky, but, in a pinch, she could jump to the ground. Leaving her rucksack packed and her dagger unsheathed, she rested until Nick returned with a plate of dark stew and mashed potatoes.
“The two grunts are out like doused lamps, snoring in the taproom,” he said, passing her the plate. “The tracker’s big, though, so the woozy weed it took may take longer to work.”
Mouth watering, Marlies took a bite. “Oh, this is good,” she gestured at the plate. “How much woozy weed did you give the tracker?”
“A double dose, but it only drank half.”
“That might not be enough. I’ll need to leave early. What’s the fastest way over the pass?”
“The pass isn’t the fastest route. Urs and I discovered a tunnel. It’ll cut half a day off your journey and stop any crows or tharuks from spying on you.”
“Sounds good. Where is it?” She dipped bread into her gravy.
“The entrance is above the tree line, behind a boulder shaped like a sitting dog. You’ll see it as you emerge from the forest. We keep supplies in the first alcove on the right, and from there, you’d have a clear line of sight to the entrance. That is, if you can still shoot an arrow straight?” Nick’s mouth twitched in a grim smile, his scar tugging at the corner.
“Of course I can, assuming I get out of here alive.”
“Well, yes.”
A big assumption, given the beasts downstairs and their infamous bloodlust.
§
Marlies sat up in bed, nerves jangling. Something had woken her. She cocked her head, but couldn’t hear anything. The stench of tharuk slunk into her room. Slipping out of bed and into her boots, she snatched up her dagger and positioned herself behind the door.
A floorboard creaked. Someone shuffled along the hall. Then light footsteps came bounding up the stairs.
“Oh, there you are, sir,” Nick’s voice echoed down the corridor.
A low growl made the hairs on Marlies’ arms rise.
“The kitchen’s along this way, sir. I apologize, I know this place is a terrible maze, but you’ll get used to it eventually.” Nick was prattling like a typical innkeeper, distracting the beast. “Wait until you see what we have on the menu—eggs, chicken, fried potatoes. I can make something else if you’d like.” Although his light footsteps were accompanied by heavier ones down the stairs, the stink still lingered.
No one would be safe until these beasts were destroyed. If she escaped, what would they do to Nick and his family? She couldn’t have any more innocent deaths on her conscience. Marlies pulled the creaking window open and tossed her rucksack outside. Palming her dagger, she opened the door and slipped into the hall. She made her way to the top of the stairs and slid noiselessly down the wooden banister. As she landed, the tharuk spun. Marlies ducked under its slashing claws and plunged her knife into its throat. The tharuk slumped to the floor.
Another tharuk barreled down the hallway. “You!” it snarled, red eyes glinting as it raced after her.
Flinging the taproom door open, Marlies called to Nick, “Take your family and flee.” Fangs! There was another one in here, sleeping. Marlies raced through the room. The beast lumbered to its feet, springing at her. She flung a chair through the window, spraying glass, then vaulted onto the table. The tharuk swiped, snagging its claws on the edge of her cloak. She yanked the fabric free, ripping a corner, and jumped out the window. Shaking the glass off her rucksack, Marlies grabbed her bow and quiver.
The tharuk thrust its pig-shaped snout out the window, grasped jagged glass shards and broke them off. Gripping the ledge with its claws, it surged out.
Marlies ran.
The snarling beast pounded after her.
She plunged into the forest. Growls ricocheted among the trees. What had she been thinking? She’d be dead in no time. Legs and arms pumping, Marlies raced. There, that knoll—if she could get a little height she’d be able to shoot. Scrambling up the hillock, she turned, nocking an arrow, and shot. Too wide. She nocked again. This time her arrow went through the tharuk’s eye. Its roar cut off mid-bellow and it fell, black blood gushing over its snout.
The third one would be on her scent at any moment. Marlies fled up the slope, bashing her way through bushes until she found a trail. Roars echoed from below. It was coming.
§
One underling was dead and another was barging through the forest to head off the dark-haired female. 458 shook its head and roared. There were better ways to deal with humans. It hacked the hand off the dead underling, tattooed wrist and all, and tucked the hand into its pocket. The tracker stomped along the hallway. The innkeeper chose that moment to step into the hall. Perfect. Grabbing the innkeeper in a throttle hold, the tharuk squeezed.
The man’s eyes bulged with fear and his throat gurgled.
“Hah, little human. You were hiding the woman. Who is she? Where is she going?”
“Don’t know.”
“No, I don’t know.” 458 tightened his hold. “But you do.”
The innkeeper’s face grew pale, and his eyelids fluttered. Although the angry burn in 458’s blood demanded quenching, killing this cur was not the answer. The tracker slackened his grip, so the man could speak. “Talk, or your children will die.”
That worked. The man squawked, “I—I’ve never seen her before. I have no idea where she’s going or who she is.”
458 dropped the human and ran outside. There was only one way over these mountains: the female would be heading for the pass. 458—swifter than other tharuks—raced for the mountainside. It couldn’t track its quarry because it hadn’t been able to scent anything since three days ago, when up in the pass, that dragon had burned its snout. Stinking dragon scum.
§
Clutching his aching throat, Nick raced to the kitchen, croaking for Urs. His son appeared, an axe in his white-knuckled grip.
“No, Urs, don’t fight them. This is only the beginning. More will come. Esmeralda and the littlings are shoving supplies into the cart. Go, harness the horses. We’re leaving.”
“But those—”
“Just
go.” Nick indicated his scar, the thick rope that had tugged at his face and throat. “Quick! Go!” Urs knew what tharuks had done to him and Urs’ mother, Lisa, his deceased first wife. May her soul soar with departed dragons.
Urs ran out the back door.
Nick wrenched a board off the pantry wall and retrieved his pouch of coins. Ducking into the bedrooms, he snatched up an armful of quilts and ran to the stables.
Urs was fastening the last harness. “Da, I found that woman’s horse, and sent it back to Lush Valley.”
“Thank you, Son.” Nick flung the quilts in the back, where his wife and littlings were seated. “Lie down and stay still,” he urged the littlings. Esmeralda threw the quilts over them.
Nick and Urs jumped onto the box seat. Nick snapped the reins.
When they made it to the ring road, he glanced up at the mountainside. The tharuk was a furlong below dog rock. Marlies was nowhere to be seen, but she was up there, all right. She’d been wearing one of Master Giddi’s mage cloaks, which helped her blend in with her surroundings.
“Pa, look.” Urs pointed.
Marlies appeared, just below the tunnel.
The tharuk surged upward.
Nick breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn’t been an accident. Marlies had deliberately shown herself, luring the tracker on to buy his family time to escape. He touched his scar. He owed her his life—again.
§
Marlies ran into the tunnel. Not wasting precious moments to let her eyes adjust, she patted the right wall until she found the alcove, and went inside. There were Nick’s supplies. But, from here, with light glaring from the cave mouth, she wouldn’t see her enemy well.
She moved down the tunnel, finding another alcove. Here, she’d be able to see the tharuk in the dim without blinding herself. Marlies dumped her rucksack, nocked her bow and waited.
A faint scrape sounded outside the tunnel. Goosebumps skimmed her arms. It was coming.
If only Hans were here, he’d use his dragon sight to look through the rock, and mind-meld so she could see. Heart thumping, Marlies drew back her bowstring.
Dragon Hero: Riders of Fire, Book Two - A Dragons' Realm novel Page 7
