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

by Eileen Mueller

  “I’m sticking with Lovina.” Tomaaz broadened his stance. Pa could say what he liked, he wasn’t changing his mind. “I’m not letting her travel alone.”

  “She won’t be alone, Son.” Pa said, sounding totally reasonable, as if he wasn’t discarding someone Tomaaz cared about. “Liesar will protect her.”

  Lovina needed him. She had no one else. Tomaaz folded his arms across his chest.

  “Tomaaz,” Pa said, “Handel has told me that you’re crucial to your mother’s survival. I won’t trade her life for a girl you hardly know. Your mother will die without you.”

  A girl he hardly knew? Her art. Her smiles. Her trembling body when her night terrors hit. He knew her, and he wanted to know more. He wanted to protect her. She’d been hurt before because of his mistakes.

  But he couldn’t let his mother die.

  §

  “I’ll be back. Take care and speed well,” Tomaaz whispered, his breath caressing Lovina’s neck.

  Lovina clung to him. Her broken arm, sandwiched between them, throbbed. This pain in her arm kept things real. Life was full of hurt, separation. Death.

  Zens would kill Tomaaz too.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back hot tears. No one got out of Death Valley alive, unless Zens willed it.

  “Lovina, you must have hope.” Tomaaz pulled back to look at her.

  Chill air snaked between them.

  “You have to believe I can do this,” he insisted.

  “Do I?” Her voice came out flat. She willed herself to believe him, but his warmth was sucked into a dark cold whirlpool inside her.

  “I have to try and save Ma.”

  She nodded. Family was family.

  “Lovina,” he whispered, “I want to stay with you.”

  Her heart leaped. Did he mean it?

  He slid his arms from her shoulders, gazing at her.

  No, he was memorizing her face—girding himself up to say goodbye.

  On Fire

  Marlies was burning. Everything was fire. The cave, her arm, her head. Groggily, she sipped some water, then fell back to sleep. Her instincts screamed at her to cleanse and dress her arm, but she was tired, so tired.

  The walls spinning, she drifted off again.

  §

  Hans enfolded Marlies in his arms. It was so warm and comforting. She melted against him. But he was burning, licked by dragon flame.

  No, her whole world was burning, filled with flame and fire.

  Her skin was about to burst apart.

  §

  Marlies was damp with sweat. Her arm was on fire, hot and puffy.

  She still hadn’t cleaned her wound. How long had she slept?

  It was still daytime … no, she’d woken a couple of times in pitch black, so it had been night at some stage. Perhaps it was the next day? Or the day after? Shards, she must be sick if she couldn’t tell what day it was. She sat on her bedding and pulled a vial of dragon’s breath out of her rucksack to light the cave.

  The makeshift bandage on her arm was covered in yellow crusted pus. Gods, she could’ve been out for days. She peeled the filthy bandage off her arm, gasping as it stuck to her flesh. The wound was red and swollen, festering. It didn’t matter how tired and dizzy she was, if she didn’t treat it, she would never get to Death Valley—or back to her family.

  Marlies grimaced. She’d come so far. She was on Zens’ doorstep, only a few hours away, and here she was, useless.

  Her forehead was burning and her hands cold—sure signs that her fever was building again. She needed to make a feverweed tisane and brew some clean herb, but with only one candle and mug, she couldn’t brew two things at once. Marlies settled for chewing feverweed leaves, not as effective as tea, and warming crushed clean-herb in a cup over the candle. It was best hot, but Marlies didn’t have the luxury of time; she had to act before the next wave of fever hit her. It was a shame piaua wouldn’t work on infections. A shame she hadn’t cleaned and treated her wound when it had happened.

  When the clean-herb was lukewarm, Marlies dipped a cloth in it and wiped out her wound, gritting her teeth to stop herself from crying out as she removed crusted pus and scabs. Her wound had swollen so much the hot red skin around it was tight and shiny. It hurt like molten metal. She let it bleed, hoping to purge the wound, then cleaned it some more.

  Marlies threw the dirty bandage into a corner and washed her hands with the rest of the clean-herb. Shivering again, she bandaged her arm and got dressed again. She bit some hard flatbread, but it tasted like wood.

  She wasn’t hungry anyway, so she burrowed back into her bedding and dozed off.

  Slipping Away

  Wind rushed into Lovina’s eyes, making them sting. The vast forest below turned into a blurry wasteland. The wind was causing her tears—only the wind. Tomaaz’s face swam before her and she batted it away. Memories hurt. She’d learned that much in Death Valley.

  Waves of agony spread up her arms and legs and across her torso.

  Something was wrong: these sensations were more than pins and needles; more than spasms. Lovina’s thighs and shoulders rippled with agony. Feverish, she drifted in and out of sleep, vivid nightmares clawing at her head.

  She tried to pick up the waterskin, but her fingers were locked, bent like tharuk claws—and that was her good arm. The pain in her broken arm, spasming and hitting the side of the saddlebag, made her breath short and gaspy.

  Tomaaz had put feverweed in her pocket—if only she could reach it. Her fingers scrabbled at the blankets, but couldn’t grip—useless. Like a littling giving up in an avalanche, she slumped, drifting into another round of torture. Images washed through her mind. Zens beating children. Hurting her brothers. And always, that awful tank of his, waiting for her.

  A Wing Down

  “Tharuk!” Handel banked, tipping to the side, but a volley of arrows was flying right at him. He ducked and swooped.

  Pain ripped through Hans’ mind. “Where have you been hit?” he asked his dragon.

  “My wingtip.”

  “Can you fly?”

  “Not far. I can make it to that hill. There’s a cave there where we can hole up.”

  “Good.” But not good at all. While Handel was healing, anything could be happening to Marlies. Hans rubbed the back of his neck. There was nothing he could do.

  When they reached the cave, Hans sent Tomaaz off to catch some game, while he rubbed salve on Handel’s wing and applied a healing poultice. “Well, Handel, it’s not too bad. Lucky the arrows weren’t poisoned and you let me know quickly.”

  “I’m sorry, Hans, it will delay us a few days.” Handel butted him in the stomach with his head.

  Hans scratched his eye ridge. “Not much we can do about that. Except rest and heal.”

  Even as he comforted his dragon, Hans chafed to get moving. Every moment they delayed could cost Marlies her life.

  §

  Behind Tomaaz, Handel was resting on the grass, after a meal, gathering his strength for the last leg of the journey. Although his wing injury had delayed them three days, it had healed well, but they didn’t want to take any chances when they were closer to Death Valley.

  Pa placed his hand on Tomaaz’s shoulder. “You’re not enjoying this at all, are you, Son?”

  Breaking a piece of flatbread in half, Tomaaz avoided Pa’s intense gaze. “Racing to Death Valley to save my mother? No.” He took a bite.

  “Not that. Flying.”

  Pa had noticed? He chewed deliberately, giving him time to think. In the distance, the peaks of the Terramites lorded their grandeur above the forest. In Zens’ shadow, the birds were quieter, the forest subdued. He decided not to answer. “How much further?”

  “Far enough, if you don’t like flying.” Pa shrugged. “You know, one of our dragon masters used to get terribly flight sick. As a trainee, the Master Archer, Jerrick, had no stomach for heights. He even barfed from dragonback once.” Pa swigged from the waterskin.

  “Thank
s, Pa. Good to know.” Just the thought made Tomaaz queasy.

  Closing the waterskin, Pa cocked his head. “Jerrick overcame it.”

  Tomaaz paused. “How?”

  “His friend Alfonso teased him, saying he’d jumped off his dragon to conquer his fear, but we could never get Jerrick to confirm or deny.” Hans chuckled. “I can introduce you to him when we get to Dragons’ Hold. Maybe he’ll tell you his secret.”

  When we get to Dragons’ Hold, not if. Interesting. So, Pa was certain they’d get out of Death Valley. Tomaaz had no idea how. From what Lovina had told him, Death Valley was like a fortress—difficult to penetrate and even harder to escape from.

  “Any more news about Ma? Have you or Handel had any more visions?”

  Face grim, Pa studied him at length, then said, “Yes, I saw her last night.”

  §

  Hans hesitated. There was no point in alarming his son, but there was no point in lying either. In his vision, he’d seen Zens beating Marlies. She’d been in bad shape. Then he’d seen Tomaaz carrying Marlies’ limp body. His throat constricted. He couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead.

  Death Valley was going to be harrowing. Tomaaz would see things that would haunt him for years. But it was worth it to save Marlies. He sighed and passed his son the waterskin. “Drink well; this may be the last untainted water you get for a while. Zens puts numlock in the water supply and in slaves’ food.”

  Shards, what was he doing, taking his own son to Death Valley? Was he mad? The visions he’d had last night—and Handel’s—confirmed this was the right course. He hated sending his son into the jaws of the wolf. The thing was, he hadn’t seen himself in any visions. “Handel, if we’re wrong, I’ll lose my family.”

  “I know it’s been years, but you used to trust our visions. You will lose Marlies, if Tomaaz doesn’t go.”

  “And me?” Hans replied. “What role do I play?”

  “I see nothing. No vision.” Handel sent him a mental shrug.

  His chest pinched. What if he lost Tomaaz and Marlies? Hans pulled out Ana’s velvet pouch. Maybe Marlies wasn’t in danger yet. Maybe it was yet to happen.

  “I’d forgotten all about Ana’s gift. What’s in it?” Tomaaz asked.

  Hans extracted some folded brown paper, opening it to reveal dried auburn berries.

  “Clear-mind berries,” Tomaaz blurted.

  “If we eat them, the numlock won’t affect us.”

  “But surely Zens will be able to tell.”

  “Yes, because our eyes won’t have the gray sheen that Lovina’s did, but …” Hans fished in the pouch again and pulled out a vial of gray powder. “Dragon’s scale. A pinch of this should make your eyes and fingernails gray, then all we’ll have to do is act slow and witless.”

  Tomaaz snorted. “About now, Lofty would be laughing, telling me I’m witless enough already.”

  Hans cricked his neck and forced himself to chuckle. “Check your fingernails regularly. Take more dragon’s scale as soon as they start pinking. Don’t forget. Your life depends upon it.”

  And Marlies’ life.

  Face earnest again, Tomaaz nodded.

  “The biggest challenge will be to find Ma and get her out.” Hans said, not mentioning the hundreds of tharuks at Zens’ command. “We’ll slip into the valley together, if we can, then join work teams and find out where your mother is. I don’t like to say this, Son, but it might be best to split up.” Pa passed him a clear oval stone with pointed ends.

  “A calling stone …” Tomaaz eyes widened. “They’re real?”

  “They sure are. If we’re separated, we’ll talk each day at sunset. Just hold the stone in your palm, rub the surface and think of me. We’ll be able to mind-meld across distances.”

  Tomaaz swallowed. “And if I’m caught?”

  Hans gave him a grim smile. “Then I’ll have to save you.”

  A Rude Awakening

  Marlies heard muffled scrapes at the cavern mouth. Hans was here. She’d been dreaming of him and Handel streaking through the sky to save her. It must’ve been a rare prophecy, a vision.

  “Hans?” she croaked, throat dry.

  Boots struck the stone. She pushed herself to sit. A dark figure blocked the light at the cave.

  “Hans, I—”

  “Found you,” a voice growled.

  Marlies gasped. It wasn’t Hans but a tharuk towering over her. She grasped her knife, but a furry hand closed over hers and squeezed until she dropped it.

  The beast sniffed at her. “We’ve found the female Zens wanted,” it called.

  A smaller tharuk entered the cave. “Good. That makes up for losing the big male.”

  Could they mean Giant John?

  “Pack this up,” the large tharuk ordered. “Zens wants this one with belongings.”

  The wiry tharuk limped over to Marlies, and shoved all of her gear and weapons into her rucksack, while the big tharuk yanked her to her feet.

  Although her arm was still in agony, it was better than before. Still, Marlies cried out. If she showed she was injured and weak, they’d think she wasn’t a threat.

  Soon she was outside, draped over the big beast’s shoulder, her face pressed into its stinking fur. No wonder they’d found her. The snow was churned and splattered in blood all the way to her cave. It was amazing she hadn’t been found earlier.

  Marlies bobbed up and down as the beast strode along. At least she didn’t have to walk to Death Valley herself now. Eventually, the motion of the tharuk’s gait sent her back to sleep.

  §

  At dusk, Marlies’ captors dumped her on the ground among stumpy bushes. Thank the Egg, they were below the snow line again. While the tharuks collected wood for a fire, she stretched and tested her injured arm. Better, but not good enough to fight with yet. She’d have to bide her time.

  The small beast with a jagged scar across its snout approached, dumping her rucksack near her. “Eat.” It nocked an arrow, training it on her. “Now.”

  Marlies drank from her waterskin, and fished out a piece of dried beef, one of Giant John’s apples, now bruised, and some flatbread.

  Scar Snout, the small one, tied her ankles and wrists tightly, and darted off into the bushes, returning with two squealing rats. It stomped on their heads, its heavy boots making a mess of the squirming creatures. It dashed off for more, amassing a pile of dead rats.

  Soon the beasts were holding rats impaled on sticks over the fire. Sparks spat high into the dark and the rats’ body juices sizzled over the flames.

  Despite her revulsion, the aroma of char-roasted rat made Marlies’ stomach rumble.

  “Hold this,” the large one handed his stick to Scar Snout, then turned and picked up a dead rat, biting into it and sucking the entrails out with a slurp. Blood dribbled over its snout and paws.

  Marlies turned away, nauseous.

  “Hey,” yelled Scar Snout. “Don’t eat them all. I want some, too.”

  “I’m bigger.” After a thump from the big tharuk, Scar Snout was quiet.

  Once the tharuks had finished slurping and crunching, she turned back to the fire in time to catch the end of a rat’s tail disappearing into Scar Snout’s mouth. “We’re late. Zens will be angry,” Scar Snout said, poking the embers with a stick.

  “Weather was bad. And your fault. You searched by that river.”

  “I scented the large oaf. The one who gave us food. I went to look.”

  Marlies stiffened. Scar Snout had followed Giant John!

  “Zens won’t care. You didn’t find anything.”

  “Actually,” said Scar Snout slyly, “I found oaf’s wagon. In the river. His horse’s tracks went east.”

  “You didn’t tell me.” The huge brute clobbered Scar Snout, sending it sprawling. “I’m boss. You tell me everything. Hear?” It kicked Scar Snout along the ground. “The oaf would be valuable.”

  Marlies pretended to be asleep, watching through slitted eyes.

  “We have the othe
r one,” whined Scar Snout, groveling.

  The large tharuk grunted. “Zens will be pleased! I get a reward.” A nasty rumble echoed from its throat, and it wandered over, nudging her with its toe. “This flesh must work hard. Or rot on the heap.” The tharuks guffawed.

  §

  About mid-morning, the tharuks dumped Marlies on a foothill behind some scraggly bushes. The beasts crawled forward on their bellies to observe the valley below.

  Marlies squinted through the sparse brush, the last sign of vegetation. Stretching as far as she could see were steep brown hills. An arid valley snaked between the hills toward the north, and haze clung to the hillsides. This was the destination Zaarusha had shown her—Death Valley.

  Why were her captors being so stealthy? They were late back. Surely, these brutes would be in a hurry? Apparently not.

  The large tharuk shoved a waterskin and a piece of bread into Marlies’ hands and motioned for her to be quiet. She forced herself to chew slowly, straining to swallow each mouthful. Feeling this sick, how could she save Zaarusha’s son, even if she did find him? And what of her family? Would she see them again?

  Oh, shards, she’d forgotten Hans’ calling stone in her rucksack. As soon as she was alone, she’d use it.

  The tharuks stiffened and glanced at each other.

  Then she heard it: a tharuk patrol was passing below—that’s why her captors were hiding. The warmongering beasts would probably kill them and take her as their own prisoner. A shiver ran through her. Here, life had no value.

  Once the patrol had passed, the tharuks backtracked to carry her down a steep ravine, out of sight of the main valley. The arid dust coated her nostrils and parched her throat.

  She was alive. But for how long?

  §

  By afternoon, they’d reached Death Valley. Instead of taking her to Zens, the tharuks kept her out of sight and sneaked her up a side arm of the valley, riddled with caves. The tharuks took her into a cave and threw her on the stone floor. Landing on her injured arm, Marlies groaned.