The tinkle of her laugh echoed in his mind. “Yes, I’m here too, Hans. We must collect supplies and leave Lush Valley.”
Settlements often sent supplies to Dragons’ Hold to support the riders who protected them. It made sense to take his produce. “We can’t leave without my son.” He showed them an image of Tomaaz.
“You’re right, we mustn’t leave him behind.” Handel used that voice.
“What is it? What have you seen?” They shared the gift of prophecy, although Hans’ was a little rusty.
“I’m not sure yet, but he’s tied to the fate of the realm, just as your daughter is. Zaarusha’s dragonet gave much more than either you or Marlies suspected.” Handel dived, burning a tharuk.
Hans’ face heated with shame. “I’ll stand and face the council. Marlies and I deserve that for running.”
“Yes, you will.” Handel gave Hans time to digest that, before he continued, “However, due to her folly, both of your children inherited gifts from Zaarusha’s dragonet.”
“What gifts?” Hans’ shoulders were beginning to ache where Handel gripped them.
“Time will tell.”
For years, Hans had wondered how their farm looked from above, on dragonback. Now he knew. Handel spiraled down, depositing him on the grass. Liesar landed nearby.
Shards and dragon’s teeth! The whole front door had been splintered. Dead tharuks were scattered across the fields. People were lifting wounded inside, exhaustion dogging their movements. At the sight of dragons, they stopped, fear and curiosity battling on their faces.
With blue guards scorching the enemy nearby, they probably realized dragons were on their side, but he had to reassure them anyway. “It’s all right,” Hans called. “The dragons are helping us.”
A ragged cheer went up.
Where was his son? He dashed inside. “Tomaaz?”
His home was full of wounded, but his son was not among them.
§
Tomaaz slowly rose to his feet, taking a surreptitious step closer to his sword. So foolish to have dropped it.
“Give me back my slave, boy.”
Bill’s smile gave Tomaaz the creeps. It always had—there’d been good reason to avoid Old Bill, but with four tharuks at his back, there was no avoiding him now. For a moment, Tomaaz wanted to play for time, but what was the use? He was outnumbered and cornered—with a girl who was too injured to run.
He lunged for his sword, snatching it, and ran straight for Bill and the tharuks.
In an instant, Bill was behind the tharuks, shouting commands at the beasts.
A tharuk charged Tomaaz. He leaped aside, his tattered jerkin catching on the beast’s tusk and tearing free. Claws swiped at him. Tomaaz thrust the tip of his sword at a brute’s eye. And then he was surrounded. It was over before it really began, and Lovina was unprotected.
Bill lurched over to her, grinning.
Tomaaz swept his sword in an arc, trying to break through, then spun, protecting his back. The beasts laughed, throwing the odd swipe, taunting, taking turns playing with him. When they attacked, he’d be a goner, shredded by their claws and tusks.
Lovina’s shrill scream made him whirl.
Bill was breaking Lovina’s fingers. “I’ll teach you, girl!” he snarled.
Roaring, Tomaaz pelted toward a tharuk, ramming his shoulder into its gut. The surprised beast fell backward. Strong furry arms grabbed Tomaaz from behind, pinning his arms at his sides in a bear hug. The tharuk lifted him from the ground, crushing the breath out of him. Tomaaz struggled and kicked. He tried to call to Lovina, but could only gasp.
Bill dragged Lovina along the ground by her injured arm. Her broken bone jutting through her flesh at an impossible angle, she fainted.
Oh gods, he’d thought he could protect her. Now they’d both die, a furlong or two from home.
The tharuks gathered around him, snarling. It was getting harder to breathe.
“I want a turn, too,” one said. “When do we get to play?” An arrow hit the beast in the head and it fell.
With a whoop, Lofty crashed through the bushes. He let a second arrow loose. Another beast fell. Only two to go—and Bill.
Bill whipped out a knife, holding it to Lovina’s throat. “Hurt another tharuk and the girl gets this.”
Lofty raised an eyebrow.
Tomaaz shook his head. He couldn’t risk Lovina.
The big tharuk holding Tomaaz spoke, its voice rumbling through Tomaaz’s back like an avalanche, “Crush him, now.”
The remaining beast swiped at Lofty, who whipped his sword out of his scabbard as Tomaaz watched—helpless, ribs and chest aching, lungs tight.
A downdraft stirred the foliage. Overhead, wings flapped. An arrow thwacked into Bill, and he dropped his knife, clutching his shoulder. A blast of flame shot from the sky, burning the tharuk fighting Lofty.
Above them, two dragons wheeled in the air—bronze and silver.
A bow twanged. The tharuk holding Tomaaz flinched and staggered forward a step. Tomaaz heard the zip of a second arrow, and the tharuk fell on him, pinning his legs to the ground. He shoved the dead beast off him and scrambled to his feet, taking a shuddering breath.
He raced to Lovina. Bill was gone, the only reminders of him a broken arrow shaft on the ground and Lovina’s injuries.
The silver dragon roared, chasing Bill, shooting flame.
The bronze dragon landed between the trees as Lofty chased the last tharuk off. His father dismounted and was at his side in moments.
“Pa?” It took Tomaaz a moment to recover from the surprise. “Bill did this, Pa. He shattered her arm. I couldn’t stop him.” He’d made the wrong decision, looking for Pa when Lovina was in danger. “And her head …” He lifted her hair to reveal an ugly lump with a gash through it.
Pa placed a hand on his shoulder. “Son, how can we help?”
Lofty crouched next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, tell us what to do.”
Years of healing at his mother’s side kicked in. Tomaaz took off his jerkin, tearing what was left of it into strips. “Lofty, get me a short straight branch, about the length of her arm. Pa, cover her with something warm.”
Pa strode to a huge saddlebag on the side of the dragon and came back with a blanket. He tucked it around Lovina’s torso and felt her forehead. He sloshed some water from a waterskin into a mug and crumbled herbs into it, then took it to his dragon, who warmed the water with a small flame. Pa bundled another blanket under Lovina’s head, and gave Tomaaz a pot of healing salve. “I’ll give Lofty a hand with that branch. The sooner we can splint her arm, the better.”
Tomaaz lifted the cup to Lovina’s lips.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Tomaaz?”
“It’s all right, Lovina. Bill’s gone. I’m here.”
A Narrow Escape
Marlies traipsed on through the dark, keeping to the goat track zigzagging among the trees in a steep climb. That chimney Giant John had sent her through, full of cobwebs and slithering things, hadn’t been used in an age. It was good to be out of that shrotty wagon, breathing fresh air again. The moon slid above the tree line as if it had been waiting to greet her, reflecting off the snow higher up the mountain.
Were her family in danger? Was Ezaara fighting tharuks with Zaarusha? What about Hans and Tomaaz in Lush Valley? The beacon fire on the Western Pass had warned of an attack. She’d killed three tharuks at Nick’s inn, but how many more were coming? She shivered, and it was nothing to do with the biting northern wind. Tharuks were smothering the people of Dragons’ Realm like a thick suffocating blanket of evil, robbing innocents of free will and life. They were a scourge, a monstrosity created by a sick man. And she was heading straight to his lair.
In all her battles for the realm, she’d only seen Zens a few times, but every time, he’d made her blood run cold.
The trees along the track thinned and the mountainside grew steeper. Marlies pressed on. If she could make Devil’s Gate when no tharuk
s were around … but she had no way of knowing what their movements were.
High above the tree line, looking over the Flatlands, Marlies swung her rucksack off her shoulder and took a deep draft from her waterskin. Here and there, between the dark carpet of Great Spanglewood Forest, the mighty Tooka River ran silver. By day, she’d see the distant peaks of the Grande Alps surrounding Lush Valley to the east, but the night had swallowed every trace of her family home. It was as if Lush Valley didn’t exist and the last eighteen years had been erased. Here she was again, on a solo quest for Zaarusha.
No, she had killed the dragonet. And the new life she’d made had been shattered by her past.
An eerie howl rippled through the night. Wolves—in the trees behind her.
Shards! She was low on freshweed, so she’d skipped taking it and they’d picked up her scent. She was too far up the trail to run back to a tree. Marlies snatched a rope from her rucksack and sprinted up the hill, keeping an eye on the rocky mountainside.
Thank the Egg, the moon was up or she’d have no chance. There, that outcrop above the trail looked solid enough. She ran toward it, a howl sending gooseflesh along her arms. Marlies tied a dragon’s hitch in the end of the rope and threw it at the outcrop.
And missed. The rope hit the ground.
A wolf ran out of the trees, growling. A lone wolf. Was it sick or crazed?
She threw the rope again. It sailed over the outcrop and caught. Oh shards, the wolf was getting closer, its gray pelt a flash against the dark trail. She tugged, tightening the hitch around the jutting rock. The wolf was so close, she could hear it panting.
Grabbing the rope, Marlies swarmed up the cliff. The wolf leaped, and its nose bumped her boot.
The wolf tensed its haunches, jumping again.
Thrusting her feet against the cliff, Marlies pulled hard with her arms, gaining height. There was a jolt that nearly yanked her arms out of their sockets. Marlies slammed against the rock, winding herself. The wolf was swinging in midair, growling, its jaws clamped on the rope. Foam speckled its jawline. It was crazed. If her hands were free, she could shoot it, but with it hanging onto her rope, she couldn’t even tie herself up to free her hands. Marlies planted her feet against the rock face and hung on.
The wolf wasn’t half as clever. It writhed and bucked in midair, thrashing its limbs.
Her arms burned. It was a sheer drop to narrow trail then the valley below. If the wolf didn’t finish her, the mountainside would. “Steady,” she called, “or you’ll have us both dead.”
The wolf growled, its eyes mean slits.
Gradually, it stopped thrashing and hung on, its dead weight making Marlies’ arms shriek with pain. This was beyond burning, beyond sore, her arm, shoulder and neck muscles spasmed, begging her to let go. It was only a matter of time.
The wolf dropped to the ground, snarling, and sat on the trail, waiting.
Marlies held onto the rope and, with the other hand, she pulled the rest of the rope up, jamming it between her knee and the cliff face. She rested for a moment, then freed her knife from her belt and hacked off the soggy end of the rope where the wolf’s infested jaws had been. The last thing she needed was to become wolf-crazed.
Down on the trail, the wolf snapped up the discarded piece of rope and ran around in a frenzy shaking it. Then it slumped on the trail, gnawing.
How long would it stay there? Well, there was no going down. She pulled herself up until she could climb onto a narrow ledge. Her legs dangling off the edge, she secured herself to the ledge with her rope. If she fell, the knots would yank tight, making it impossible to get down without help. But at least she wouldn’t be dead.
She glanced at the wolf. Oh, bad move. Her head spun. She didn’t normally get vertigo. Probably a combination of tiredness and no food. But there was nothing she could do until the wolf left. She couldn’t take her rucksack off up here. Exposed on the ledge, Marlies pulled her hood tight and tugged her cloak around her. She was sitting tight, stuck again. No one was coming to save her. No dragon would swoop down and pluck her from the ledge.
Oh well, she’d waited eighteen years in Lush Valley; she guessed she could wait a little longer. She wouldn’t give up; she had to get to Death Valley and save Zaarusha’s son.
Storm Brewing
“We’re leaving, Tomaaz, and we’re not taking a tharuk spy to Dragons’ Hold,” Pa whispered. He stood, bumping the table, rattling the weapons and tipping over a pouch of herbs.
“Lovina’s not a spy. How could you even think that?” Tomaaz kept his voice low. If Pa kept this up, he’d wake her—asleep in Ezaara’s room.
“I won’t let you jeopardize the future of our family just because Lovina scrubs up well,” Pa hissed.
“That’s not on, Pa! You heard what she said!” Tomaaz whispered. He leaped to his feet, grabbing his chair before it fell to the floor. “You saw the lash marks on her back. Bill will kill her if we leave her here.”
Pa picked up some smoked meat. “We can’t take her with us. What if she’s still under Bill’s influence?” He shoved the meat in a sack.
“He abducted her. Tortured her. Beat her. She’s not on his side. She’s—” Tomaaz stopped, unable to speak as he remembered the bloody mess and infected scars on Lovina’s back. And Bill smacking her head into that tree.
“Maybe this is what Bill wants—us fighting about her.” Pa’s breath was ragged. “I’ll bet he wants her to sow unrest between us.”
“It’s not like that. Why can’t you believe me?” Tomaaz pleaded. “Pa, it’s my fault she’s injured. If I hadn’t searched the jail for you … if I’d followed Bill instead, he wouldn’t have broken Lovina’s arm or fingers.”
Sympathy flickered over Pa’s face.
This was Tomaaz’s chance. “He’s still out here. It’s not safe for her in Lush Valley,” Tomaaz said. “You know, you could ask Ernst and Ana what she was like—she’s been staying with them.”
“We’ll see.” Pa turned his back and busied himself with packing supplies. “Now that Lovina’s asleep, it’s time for a proper introduction to our dragons. Grab that sack.”
Tomaaz had already met them, but seeing the dragons could soften his father’s attitude, so he picked up the sack of food and followed him outside.
The bronze and silver dragons were curled up on the grass, sleeping in the sun. This close, it was hard to believe the size of them, and to get used to the others, blue wings spread, wheeling in the sky.
“Handel and Liesar are exhausted,” said Pa. “They’ve come directly from Dragons’ Hold—three days’ flight away—and they got caught up for a couple of days in skirmishes in Western Settlement.” Pa strode to the bronze dragon and put his sack of supplies into one of the dragon’s saddlebags, which was large enough to hold a man—well, a small one, anyway. “Tomaaz, meet Handel.”
Tomaaz nodded, putting his sack in the saddlebag.
“You can speak, Son. He understands you.” Pa’s eyes danced with amusement.
“You’re joking, right?”
Pa placed Tomaaz’s hand on the dragon’s snout.
A deep voice rumbled through his head. “Now, why would that be a joke? Think I’m too dumb to understand, do you?” The dragon’s green eyes regarded him, its diamond-shaped pupils narrowing to a slit.
Tomaaz’s cheeks heated. “I–I didn’t know. I thought—”
Warm dragon’s breath gusted across Tomaaz’s face and a strange sound echoed in his head, like stones skittering down a bank. Was Handel laughing?
“Of course I am.”
“So, you’re Pa’s dragon?”
“No, Tomaaz. He’s my rider.” Handel winked at him. “You don’t have to speak out loud. While you’re touching me, I can hear your thoughts—it’s called mind-melding.”
Keeping his hand on Handel’s head, Tomaaz let the memory of Bill attacking Lovina resurface. “Can you help me convince my father that we should take her with us?”
“She’s important to
you, isn’t she?” Handel asked.
Was she? Tomaaz hadn’t really thought about it. She just needed help.
“Well, you’ll never find out if we don’t bring her. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Tomaaz.” Pa’s voice made him start. “This is Liesar.”
Tomaaz went over and laid his hand on the silver dragon’s head. Like Handel’s, her scales were smooth, warm and supple—like soft leather. “My mother’s your rider, isn’t she?” There was no mistaking those turquoise eyes.
“It’s been a long time, but yes.” Liesar regarded him. “Greetings from your sister. She’s doing well at Dragons’ Hold.”
“Thank the Egg. I was worried about her.”
“It’s funny, you know,” the silver dragon melded. “You cuss like a dragon rider, even though no one in Lush Valley likes dragons or riders.”
“What do you mean?”
“‘The Egg’ and ‘shards’ refer to the legendary great Egg, from which Arisha, the Great Dragon, the mother of all dragons, was born. ‘Sharding’ is what happens when a dragon bursts forth from its egg.” Liesar chuckled.
“Lots of people here speak like that.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” The dragon yawned. “I’d better get some sleep. It’ll be a long flight back. Make sure you leave one of my front saddlebags empty for Lovina.”
“For Lovina?”
“Yes, you want her to come with us, don’t you? She’ll fit nicely in there.”
“Yes, but Pa—”
“Handel’s already convinced him.” Liesar winked and went back to sleep.
§
Spreading her wings, Liesar ascended into the dark sky, sending a rush of cold wind at Tomaaz’s face. Treetops flashed past. He turned to wave to Lofty below, his arm constricted by Pa’s dragon riders’ garb, but Lofty had already been swallowed by the night. They were so high. Going so fast. Behind them, a few isolated torches winked in the dark. That was all there was of Lush Valley settlement. Nothing else was visible in the dark—his lifelong home, his friends—everything had vanished.
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