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

by Eileen Mueller

  The splash of boots coming up the slushy trail announced Pa’s arrival. “Son.” He gripped Tomaaz’s shoulder. “Thank the Egg, we found you both. I’ve been so worried.”

  “We were outside when tharuks crept up on the cabin. We had to flee. Were you hurt?”

  “A tusk to the leg, but I’ve had worse.” He gestured at his bloodstained breeches. “At least I got three of them.” Pa crouched next to him. “Lovina looks worse for wear. How’s she doing?”

  “Bill gashed her with a blade. I’ve cleaned it up and stitched it. Not much else I can do.”

  “Lovina will benefit from proper care at Dragons’ Hold. The healers there are excellent.” Pa smiled. “Well, they were when your ma was there.” He picked up the healing supplies.

  Tomaaz cradled Lovina in his arms and carried her down the goat track to Liesar, his boots sloshing through the runoff. “Hey, Lovina, wake up.”

  Her hand flew to her bandaged face, then she touched the skin above Tomaaz’s eye. “You’re hurt.”

  He’d forgotten all about the tharuk gashing his temple. “We’ll have matching scars.” He kissed her hair, not caring if Pa was watching. “Let’s get you to the healers at Dragons’ Hold.”

  Liesar knelt and Pa helped him get Lovina into the saddlebag. Tomaaz tucked the blankets around her.

  “Hang on,” Pa said, uncorking the healing salve. He smeared some over Tomaaz’s wound. “It’s just a superficial cut, but you’ll be better off with some of this on it. There’s food in there, too.” He pointed at the saddlebag opposite Lovina.

  “I’m glad you got Bill, Pa. He’s done enough damage.”

  Pa shook his head. “We didn’t. Bill escaped. Short of setting the forest on fire, Handel and Liesar couldn’t reach him.” He gestured at his bow, slung across his back. “None of my arrows hit true either, although I think I nicked his arm.”

  Tomaaz saw her charcoal drawing of them, splattered with her own blood. Bill marred everything beautiful. Ruined everything. Rage surged through him. If he ever saw Bill—

  Pa placed a hand on his arm as Tomaaz was climbing into the saddle. “Let it go, Son. We have bigger fish to net. Bill’s just one of Zens’ pawns. If we can strike at the head, we’ll kill all the arms.”

  “Good advice, Pa.” Advice he wouldn’t take. Tomaaz climbed into his saddle.

  The first chance he had, he’d make Bill pay.

  Soldiering On

  Huddled among boulders near Devil’s Gate, Marlies had taken the last of her freshweed so she could stay undetected, but it was still risky being this close to her enemies. She kept her camouflage cloak pulled tightly around her, only leaving a gap for her eyes. This cluster of rocks looked like a giant’s discarded playthings in the barren landscape, but made the perfect hiding place.

  Tharuk troops were flooding through the towering icy walls—Devil’s Gate—marching toward the Flatlands.

  And, once again, she could do nothing but wait.

  §

  Wind howled between sheer ice walls of Devil’s Gate. To Marlies’ right, on the mountainside above, was a tharuk hut, occupied since dusk. They’d doused the light a while ago, but Marlies had waited before venturing into the pass. Now, she was half frozen, but it was better than being dead.

  Creeping forward, Marlies was sure she stood out like a dark blot. Underfoot, the ice, scoured by the fierce wind, reflected the moonlight like burnished metal. She kept to the right wall where she was protected from the tharuks’ view. Her boots slipped. Marlies thrust out her arms. Her sword arm hit the wall. It hurt. Had she opened up the wound again? Shards, there was a dark patch on the ice—her blood. She scraped at the wall with her gloved fingers, trying to remove it.

  A guttural voice sliced through the night. “Where are you going?”

  Marlies froze.

  “To check the pass,” another answered.

  Tharuks, out and about! Their timing couldn’t have been worse.

  “The pass don’t need checking.”

  “I saw a shadow.”

  “Get back inside. No wandering at night.”

  Feet crunched and a door slammed.

  Crouched, Marlies waited, in case it was a trap. Then she hurried on, every squeak of her boots on the ice like a drumbeat in her ears.

  At last, she was through the pass. The snow was churned up where many tharuks had passed through that day. She kept to their trail, hoping her boot prints would be lost among theirs. The only problem was, hers were going the wrong way.

  You didn’t have that problem on a dragon. How she ached to fly Liesar again. She would’ve been across the realm in a few days, instead of weeks of travel.

  Her arm throbbed, but she plowed on through the snow. At least it was a fine night; she didn’t have to battle through a storm like the one that had raged until this morning—although a storm would cover her tracks.

  Near dawn, her head was spinning and her arm was throbbing. Tharuks would soon be on the move. She had to stop. She left the trail to explore. Further along the cliff, she found a cave with a narrow entrance, obscured by a rocky projection. Perfect.

  Once inside, Marlies pulled out her bedding, laying it on the cave floor. She couldn’t make a fire here. This was Zens’ territory. But she could eat some cold food and dress her wound.

  Shards, she was tired and dizzy.

  Lying on her uninjured side, Marlies closed her eyes. Death Valley was waiting below. Tonight, she’d slip down into the valley, hide her rucksack and mingle with slaves to find out where the dragon was.

  Insight

  The creature was ravenous. It’d been days since the last putrid scrap of meat had been flung outside his cave. He paced, snarling as the chain tugged on his raw leg. Instinct pushed him to keep moving, despite the pain. If he stopped, he doubted he’d get up again.

  He scanned the cave, but didn’t dare venture outside to the pallid dawn. He’d tried going out at night, but even the moon had hurt his eyes. Venturing forth under the cover of cloud also hadn’t helped—muted light still made his eyes ache. And sunlight made them sear.

  Hours later, he was still moving, but slower. A faint scuff made him cock his head, nostrils flaring. Human. Bringing him his pitiful meal. He moved to the front of the cave, squinting in anticipation of the sharp light. But today, the sun only itched his eyes—it didn’t burn or blind. Surprised, he opened them wider and went outside.

  Before, everything had been a drab gray, leached of color—but now he could see.

  He was in an arid wasteland, surrounded by stark hills. The human shambling toward him was barely alive—a thin young male with sunken eyes, holding a spade with a rotten rat on the end. The male stopped every few paces, breathing hard, the spade swaying.

  The creature stood transfixed by that swaying spade. The rat’s limp hindquarters hung off the shovel’s blade, its tail dragging in the dust. With each of the human’s uneven steps, the rat slid a little further. If the male stumbled, his next meal would land in the dust, out of reach.

  Another step.

  Then another.

  The creature moved toward the dead-faced human until his leg ached from the chain’s bite.

  The male tossed the meat off the end of the spade, then put the blade on the ground and leaned on the handle, panting. After a while, he staggered away.

  Lying down, the creature stretched its neck toward the stinking rat. He drew back his upper lip, wrinkling his nose, and snapped up the foul-tasting meat. Then he went into the cave to rest.

  When he came out again, sunlight seared his eyes. Clawing at the cavern walls, he roared in agony, loosening showers of shale from the hillside. Then the creeping gray blindness took its toll and his mind was dimmed with fog again.

  Now, he knew what caused it: he’d only seen clearly when he hadn’t eaten for three days. The life-sapping blindness came from something in his food. There was no other explanation for his burning eyes or the blanket of gray shrouding his thoughts and sight.

>   He had to eat to survive this hell, but eating made everything more hellish. The creature limped past his dung pile, seething. Scheming.

  Change of Plans

  Lovina’s broken fingers were aching. Strange, she hadn’t noticed the pain over the last few days unless she moved them, and here she was, cramped in a saddlebag, not moving at all and they were throbbing. She raised her good hand. Come to think of it, so were her fingers on this hand. Her digits curved inward slightly, toward her palms. She’d probably strained them fighting Bill. But both hands? Maybe it was from being cramped in the same position for so long.

  Tomaaz glanced down. “We’ll stop soon so you can stretch your legs. Are you hungry?”

  “If you feed me more, I’ll burst.” She wasn’t used to eating so much, but from what she’d seen, Tomaaz could pack away an entire ox and still be hungry.

  Lovina tried to shift, but cramps ran through her feet, her toes were stiff, and she was bone-tired. Weary in a way she hadn’t been for years, despite no longer being under the influence of numlock. It must be the strain of the last few days. Or of the last eight years. Now that she was safe, perhaps her body was letting go.

  She’d let go emotionally too. She’d never thought she could trust so fast, but Tomaaz had eased his way into her heart.

  Hopefully he’d be around a while, not like all the people she’d loved and lost.

  Although the trees whisked by beneath them, she barely saw them as her memories rose to the surface, finally freed from the grip of numlock and terror of fighting to survive.

  Ma’s face flashed before her, clutching her littling brothers as tharuks had dragged them from their home. They’d been reunited with Da as the entire village was driven over the Terramites, lashed by tharuk whips. Da’s words now rang in her mind, “Keep walking straight ahead. Don’t look to the left or right. Don’t stand out and you’ll have a better chance of surviving. And always have hope: one day you’ll escape.”

  It was advice he hadn’t followed. When his littlings had been whipped, he’d fought tharuks tooth and nail, grabbing their whip for himself and lashing a beast until he’d been pulled off and put to death. The last time Lovina had seen him, tharuks had hacked his hands off, then dragged his dead body to the flesh pile. Ma had hidden Lovina’s face and the faces of her brothers in her skirts. But Lovina had peeked.

  Tears slid down her cheeks.

  And so it had been. Her brothers died too, then her mother, then all the settlers she’d known from Monte Vista. She’d become a nameless slave in a sea of lost people.

  §

  After two nights in the cave with Lovina, Tomaaz had forgotten about his flight sickness. But the flight sickness hadn’t forgotten him. The moment Liesar had left the ground, his head had spun and his stomach had lurched. Thinking food might help, he’d eaten until he was stuffed, but that had made things so much worse.

  The alps seemed just as far away as they had this morning. His nausea and dizziness made trees seethe, as if they were rising and falling beneath him. He clutched the saddle’s pommel, battling a wave of nausea.

  The sky was tinged with pink. A least it would be dark soon, and then he wouldn’t be able to see as much. Hopefully they’d stop for a few hours of decent sleep.

  “Not a fan of flying?” Lovina was awake again.

  Tomaaz clenched his teeth, swallowing. “I’d rather walk.”

  “Then you’d never get to Dragons’ Hold.”

  “I’m not sure I want to go.” He gestured at Liesar. “I mean—”

  “Feeling sick every time I rode a dragon wouldn’t really inspire me to be a rider either. Although, you must want to see your sister.”

  Her last few words were wistful. All of her family had been killed in Zens’ slave camps in Death Valley. “Yes,” he said gently. “I’d love to see my sister.” He took her good hand, rubbing his fingers across the back of it. “What about you?” It suddenly mattered what she wanted. His stomach lurched, and this time it wasn’t from dragon flight, but from the fear of losing her.

  She pulled her hand away, wincing. “My hands. They’ve been sore, cramping today, and now my calves are spasming. I think I need to stretch.”

  Tomaaz laid his hand on Liesar’s hide. “Liesar, we need to stop for Lovina.”

  “Tell her I’ll land when the trees thin out.”

  When Tomaaz relayed the message, relief washed over Lovina’s face.

  He’d have to watch her—she was obviously in more pain than she was letting on.

  §

  Tomaaz awoke, snuggled next to Lovina, with Liesar’s wing draped over them. The night had started out differently. Pa had been next to Handel, Lovina next to Liesar, and he’d been on a bedroll in the open space between the two dragons. However, the moment Pa was snoring, he’d ducked under Liesar’s wing to curl up against Lovina’s back. There was no point in her having nightmares if he could alleviate them.

  They’d both slept soundly all night.

  Nearby, Pa was up.

  Oh well, no point putting off the awkward moment. Tomaaz rested his hand on Liesar’s belly. “Thank you for sheltering us.”

  “Any offspring of Marlies’ is welcome to sleep under my wing.” A tinkle sounded in his mind, like a clear high bell—she was laughing. “And their friends, of course.”

  Somehow, the word friend had a whole different meaning when Liesar pronounced it like that. Tomaaz’s cheeks flushed hot. Liesar lifted her wing.

  Pa’s eyes swept over him, taking in his glowing cheeks, his arm draped over Lovina’s hip, their proximity.

  Well, Pa could think what he wanted.

  “Are you two hungry?” Pa asked, holding out bread and sliced apples.

  Tomaaz shook Lovina gently. “Wake up. Breakfast time.”

  She rolled over, grimacing. Her fingers were curled against her palms and, when she got up to walk, she hobbled.

  “You feeling all right?” Pa asked.

  Lovina smiled, but, to Tomaaz, it looked forced. “Just pins and needles. I’ll be all right,” she said.

  But after a few hours in the saddle, with Lovina’s arms and legs spasming, Tomaaz wasn’t so sure.

  §

  The wind ruffled Hans’ hair. After nearly eighteen years, he’d been surprised to slip so easily into riding Handel again, sensing his dragon’s moods, easing back into the way they worked together as seamlessly as—well, as fabric without seams.

  Nearby, Liesar was riding a thermal. On her back, Tomaaz was clinging to her saddle. He seemed to care about this pale slip of a girl, but Hans wasn’t concerned. Tomaaz had liked the baker’s girl just last week. At Dragons’ Hold, there’d be plenty of attractive dragon riders.

  “What do you think, Handel? Any pretty riders at the hold for my son?” Hans asked. “Handel?”

  Something was off. Handel was avoiding mind-melding, a sure sign that he was having visions. “What is it, Handel? You’ve seen a vision, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but there’s no point in stopping. These forests are too thickly wooded to land.”

  It was a dire vision, if they had to land. “Is everything all right at Dragons’ Hold?”

  “Things haven’t been all right at the hold since you left, but no, that’s not it,” Handel replied. “I don’t want to burden you before we can take action.”

  Burden him? It was something personal. And taking action meant doing something other than flying to Dragons’ Hold, so it couldn’t be Ezaara. With a sinking hollow in his gut, Hans asked, “It’s Marlies, isn’t it?”

  Liesar chimed in. “You have to tell us. We have a right to know.”

  “The visions were vague, but they’ve been getting stronger.”

  Not a good sign.

  “Is this the one of Marlies injured?” Liesar asked.

  “Marlies is injured and you didn’t tell me?” Hans blurted out loud.

  “It was always blurry, swimmy.”

  Uncertain, then. “And now?” Hans’ heart poun
ded.

  “Now, I see her dying. And it’s not vague at all.”

  §

  Liesar was descending. Tomaaz held on to the saddle, his stomach doing somersaults and his head spinning like a littling playing swing-about. Lovina gave him an encouraging smile—which made him feel like a total greenhorn. She touched his hand as Liesar spiraled down between the trees to a clearing, thick with thistles. He shut his eyes. Thistles or not, the sooner his feet were on solid land, the better.

  Pa slid from Handel’s back and raced over. His face was lined with tension. “Tomaaz, I need a word.” He strode off so they could speak privately.

  Tomaaz slid down the saddle, clutching at the straps. He bent, hands on his knees and sucked in a few deep breaths, then hurried after Pa.

  Pa was pacing, ignoring the thistle thorns catching on his breeches.

  Tomaaz narrowed his eyes. What was going on?

  “I won’t beat cream into butter, Tomaaz. Your ma’s in danger.”

  Tomaaz inhaled sharply. “What’s happened?”

  “Handel’s had a vision. Your mother is dying.”

  Panic surged through Tomaaz. “Where is she?”

  “She’s in Death Valley.”

  Death Valley! “Has she been captured? Is she a slave?”

  “I don’t know, Son.” Pa tugged a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know. Handel has seen her dying if we don’t intervene.”

  “Then let’s go. Now.”

  “Death Valley’s four days’ flight away.” Pa laid a restraining hand on Tomaaz’s arm. “Son, we need a solid plan. We can’t take Lovina. She’s in no condition to enter such dangerous territory.”

  It was like a punch to the gut. “But I want to save Ma.”

  “You can. You’re fit to travel.”

  It took Tomaaz a moment. “No!” His mind reeled. “No, we can’t leave Lovina here. That’s crazy!”

  “It is,” Pa agreed. “That’s not what I’m proposing. It’s only a day’s flight from Dragons’ Hold. Liesar can take Lovina to safety while we rescue your mother.” Pa held his palm up. “Neither you or Liesar like it, but there’s no other way.”