“Dragon’s claws and fangs! Never seen that happen before,” Roberto said.
Handel dropped to the ledge, bunching his legs to soften the impact. Still, Pa’s body slipped as he landed.
“Zaarusha! Hurry!”
Ezaara slid out of the saddle and raced over. Roberto was already there, untying Pa’s harness. His midnight eyes flashed with sympathy as he lifted her father down.
Gods, Pa was pale. He was breathing, but barely.
Roberto lifted him into the infirmary, stepping over slashed mattresses and bottles and jars strewn on the floor.
Dropping some herbs onto a table, Adelina, Roberto’s sister, rushed over. “Sorry, we haven’t finished cleaning this mess up yet. Kierion’s gone to— What’s happened? Who’s this?” Dark smudges ringed her eyes.
“Ezaara’s pa,” Roberto said as he eased Pa onto a bed.
Pa’s hands were curled into fists, his wrists bent at odd angles. His arms were bunched across his torso, as if he was having a spasm. Ezaara picked up his hand to uncurl his fingers, but they were rigid. She felt his pulse. “He’s still alive, but it looks like he’s frozen in the middle of a fit.”
Roberto and Adelina exchanged a meaningful glance.
“What?” Ezaara shot. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Roberto nodded at Adelina. “It’s limplock. Do you have any remedy?”
Ezaara had never heard of limplock.
“I’ll get it.” Adelina dashed into a curtained alcove. She reappeared a moment later with some vials of yellow granules. “I remembered you telling me about limplock, in Naobia, Roberto, when you returned from Death Valley. Lucky you did, because a girl from Lush Valley arrived while you two were away, and she’d been limplocked, too.”
Lush Valley—Ezaara’s home. “Who was it?” Ezaara asked, examining a vial.
“Lovina. You must know her. She’s a friend of your brother’s.” Adelina uncorked a vial.
Lovina? Old Bill’s daughter? She’d never been a friend of Tomaaz’s. But who knew what had happened since she’d left? “How do we give this remedy? Mix it with water?”
Roberto shook his head. “Like this.” He leaned over Pa, prizing his jaw open, and nodded at Adelina. “Slowly.”
Adelina shook a few granules onto Pa’s tongue, while Ezaara held Pa’s hand, stroking his clenched fingers. No matter how she tried to straighten them, the moment she let go, they cramped. She felt Pa’s pulse again. It was fast and thready.
“Giving him the remedy too quickly could damage his nerves,” Roberto explained. “Limplock paralyzes the body slowly over a few days. It starts at the hands and feet and works its way deeper, until the heart finally stops beating. It’s good your father got here in time.”
“In time?” Ezaara tried to swallow. “You mean it’s not too late?”
“I hope not.” His midnight eyes blazed. “We’ll do whatever we can.”
Pa’s jerkin was stained with blood and a dried green substance. Ezaara gently eased the fabric back, examining a wound above his left breast. “An arrow got him.” She pulled some clean herb out of the healer’s pouch at her waist and set about treating his injury, while Roberto administered the limplock remedy.
There was a knock at the infirmary door. Adelina went to answer it.
Already, Pa’s breaths were deeper, more rhythmic.
A thin girl entered the infirmary, ducking shyly behind a curtain of pretty brown hair. “Oh, you’re busy,” she said, backing toward the door. The girl’s blue eyes flew open. “Ezaara?” She glanced at the bed. “What happened to Hans?” she cried, rushing forward. “Oh, limplock. That’s awful. It hurts so much.”
“Lovina?” It couldn’t be. This pretty girl with soft brown hair and blue eyes was Old Bill’s daughter?
“Hello, Ezaara.” She spoke quietly and leaned over Pa, taking his other hand. “Did Bill hurt him, too?” She rubbed Pa’s hands. “My hands were cold when I was limplocked.”
It was the most Ezaara had ever heard Lovina say. “Looks like an arrow got him in the chest.” Ezaara hadn’t been thinking—she should have asked Handel what had happened. Oh, shards, she hadn’t even thought of Handel. “Handel, are you all right?”
“I’ll go and check on Handel, shall I?” Roberto asked aloud, tucking a blanket over Pa. It was going to take some getting used to him hearing what she was thinking. He passed the remedy to Ezaara and headed to the ledge outside.
Pa’s fingers tightened convulsively on Ezaara’s, then loosened. His feet twitched, then relaxed.
Relief rushed through Ezaara. “It’s working.”
“Keep giving him the remedy until the vial is gone or he’ll slip backward,” Adelina said. She bustled around the infirmary, starting to clean up the mess they’d made last night when she, Lars and Kierion had been searching for the remedy for dragon’s bane to heal Zaarusha. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Lovina’s clear blue eyes met Ezaara’s. “Do you know your mother and Tomaaz are in Death Valley? I think that’s where your father was hurt.”
Ezaara gasped. Death Valley? Things were much worse than she’d thought. “Are they still alive?”
Eyes sad, Lovina just shrugged.
§
Hans woke—if you could call it waking. Everything swam before his eyes and he was as groggy as a hatchling. His leg had a tingling sensation—that’s what had yanked him from deep slumber. He ran his hand down his leg. It ached; well, everything did. His limbs, his chest … that’s right, he’d been on Handel heading for Dragons’ Hold.
He turned his head against the pillow. Sprawled on a bed next to his was Ezaara, sleeping.
His daughter, at last. So, he’d made it to Dragons’ Hold.
“Of course you did,” Handel harrumphed from somewhere nearby. “Did you think after all these years, I’d let you down?”
“No, but I let you down when we fled.”
“At first, I was angry, but that faded after a few years. I missed you. Liesar never told me where you were until we had to rescue Lush Valley from tharuks. Welcome home.”
They were in a cavern similar to the old cavern he and Marlies had lived in, next to the infirmary, at Dragons’ Hold. The walls blurred. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to drift back to sleep. Something made his leg tingle again. Oh! Thrusting his sore clumsy fingers into his pocket, he pulled out his calling stone, fumbling as he held it up. That’s what had woken him.
Tomaaz’s face lit up the surface of the stone, his voice echoing in Hans’ mind. “Pa, I’ve found Ma.”
He had, all right. Images of Marlies flitted through Hans’ head, the way Tomaaz had seen her. Pale, blue-tinged lips and lying deathly still. Hans’ throat choked up. Another image followed: Marlies’ eyelids fluttering as she gazed up, then drifted back to sleep. So Tomaaz had saved her. He’d got there in time.
“Thank the Egg, she’s safe with you.”
“When can you meet us, Pa?” Tomaaz looked gaunt, worn out.
Hans tried to smile, but he was so exhausted, he wasn’t sure if he’d managed. Tomorrow? No, that was too soon. He didn’t even know if he could walk yet. “Two days? Can you hold on that long?”
“I’ll meet you at sunset on the hill north of the watchtower, as we arranged.” Tomaaz hesitated, then blurted out, “You still look sick, Pa. You sure you can come?”
“Need rest,” was all Hans could croak out. His fingers were aching from holding the small stone.
“I’ll take care of Ma. Don’t you worry,” Tomaaz said. “Gods, I’m glad you’re alive. Have you seen Lovina?”
“Not yet, but they say she’s recovered.”
“Good. Ezaara?”
“Yes,” Hans mumbled, losing his grip on the stone as his eyelids closed.
Revelation
The sun would soon go down. Tomaaz could hardly restrain his excitement. Two days and he and Ma would be out of there. He left the beast’s branch of the valley, making his way south to get he
r rucksack. Tomaaz tucked his shovel behind a boulder and broke into a run. The cliffs were pockmarked with caves.
Shards, he wasn’t used to running. Tomaaz slowed to a walk.
Two guttural voices drifted toward him. Hiding in a short tunnel in the hillside, Tomaaz wished his pounding heart would quieten.
“Her rucksack is not there. Where’s it gone?”
“316 was with her. Maybe he took it.”
“Slimy runty worm. Good that 316 is dead.” A tharuk chortled.
Tomaaz pressed his back flat against the tunnel wall as two lumbering tharuks passed. He held his breath, poised to run in case one was a tracker.
Their voices faded as the beasts went into the main valley.
Phew! That was close. Heading up the ravine, Tomaaz took the branch to the right, counting the caves in the northern wall. There was the one Ma said she’d stayed in, slimy and damp. The tharuks had probably searched there. Three caves further … there, that was it. In the cave, behind a rocky outcrop, was Ma’s rucksack. Tomaaz slung the straps over his shoulders and made his way back to the main valley.
But when he got to the boulder, his shovel was gone.
Shards! Those tharuks had found it. They’d have a tracker here in no time. Unless they thought a slave had left the shovel on the way to the latrines. Should he go back and hide the pack, in case he was seen? Tomaaz eased his head around the corner, surveying the valley. No one was in sight. It was only a short run back to the branch that led to Ma and the beast. Should he chance it? If he didn’t take the pack to Ma now, he may not get another chance. Especially if a tracker was set loose.
Keeping to the shadows cast by the hills, Tomaaz shot up the valley. His legs were weak and his breath rasped, but he made it to the side branch without seeing any tharuks. He pushed himself further, way past the bend, running until he reached Ma.
He dropped the rucksack near the entrance to her cave. “Ma, I’ve got to get back before the tharuks miss me.”
Her reply was drowned out by the rattle of a chain. The beast sprang out of its cave, blazing bright orange in the rays of the setting sun.
Orange? Yes, and those were the same green eyes that had been peeking through the hole, watching over Ma. But how?
A thrum ran through his mind. Warmth spread across his chest. A rush of energy enveloped him.
The folds of what had been saggy gray skin by the creature’s side were now orange. They flexed and spread into wings. The beast was a dragon.
The thrum turned into words inside his head. “Thank you for feeding me those berries, Tomaaz.”
“I, ah—you’re a dragon.”
“And you’re now my rider.”
An image of him flying above Death Valley astride the orange dragon shot through Tomaaz’s mind. He felt like a mighty eagle soaring above the valley—free and powerful. “Whoa, that would be amazing.”
“It will be, when we finally fly together, free of this hell.”
“How can we get you out of here?”
“You don’t have to speak, you can share your thoughts and feelings.”
That’s right, he’d done this before while he was touching Handel and Liesar. “Like this?” With a whoosh, something rushed through him, making him want to dance and yell with joy. He approached the dragon, holding his hand out. The dragon bowed its head and sniffed his chest, butting him gently. Tomaaz scratched one of the dragon’s eye ridges. Its scales were warm and supple like worn leather. A rumble issued from the dragon’s throat, like a cat purring.
§
Marlies woke. Her head was clear for the first time in days. She sensed something familiar. Dragon energy? No, not in Death Valley. Unless … Slowly, she got to her feet and, leaning on the walls with her uninjured arm, made her way to the mouth of the cavern. For a moment she was blinded—it’d been so long since she’d seen daylight.
Then her eyes adjusted.
Tomaaz was outside, standing spell-struck before an enormous orange dragon. In her fever-induced dreams, she’d imagined a green eye staring through a crack in the wall. But no, she hadn’t imagined it. That green eye belonged to this bedraggled dragon in front of her son.
She slumped in relief. They’d done it. They’d found Zaarusha’s son. She’d nearly died, but she’d repaid her debt to Zaarusha. Well, almost. She still had to get them all back to Dragons’ Hold.
The poor thing looked half starved. Tomaaz had lost weight too. They were so absorbed in each other, they hadn’t seen her. They were imprinting. She shook her head. This was more than she’d ever dared hope for. Both of her children were dragon riders. Marlies swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, and blinked her pricking eyes.
Perhaps she could help them strengthen their bond. Supporting herself against the wall again, Marlies went back into the cave to retrieve something from her rucksack.
§
Behind Tomaaz, Ma chuckled. She was leaning against the rocky face outside her cavern, holding something out. “You’re imprinting, Tomaaz. You may want to feed your dragon. Here, from my rucksack.” She passed him some dried meat.
Tomaaz took it. Shards, it smelled good. The dragon’s nostrils flared and twitched. Its tongue tickled as it licked his fingers.
“Tasty,” it mind-melded.
“And here I was these past few days, thinking you were going to eat me.” Tomaaz laughed, really laughed, for the first time since Ezaara had left Lush Valley. So, this is why Ezaara had left. This inexplicable intense rush of feelings, this sensation that you could soar forever, this bond and feeling of rightness. This was imprinting. His chest swelled as if it would burst from happiness.
“So, this is Zaarusha’s son,” Ma said. “What’s his name, Tomaaz?”
The dragon’s green eyes regarded Tomaaz. “From now, I am called Maazini, in honor of you.”
“He says his name is Maazini, to honor me. What does that mean?”
Ma sighed. “I wish we could have taught you this when you were young, Tomaaz. When a dragon and rider imprint, their names share a common syllable, so he’s changing his name to match yours.”
“I am grateful that you gave me clear-mind.”
Tomaaz’s chest swelled with pride. This mighty creature was grateful to him. He rubbed Maazini’s nose.
Maazini butted his chest again. “Hide your mother in my cave. I’ll keep her safe.”
“Before you go back, have something to eat.” Ma held out some dried meat and an apple. “But be careful. Too much food might make you vomit.”
Tomaaz bolted the salty meat, then finished the apple, seeds and all. He’d taken good food for granted all his life, but never again. “Here, let me help you.” He shouldered Ma’s rucksack and helped her through to Maazini’s cavern. At the back of the cave, Maazini’s chain was fixed to the wall. Tomaaz yanked at the thick links, pulling with all his bodyweight, but they held firm.
“I already tried that, but all it did was chafe my leg.” Maazini snorted. “Did you really think you were stronger than me?”
“No. So, how can we get you out of here?”
“If I knew that, I’d be gone already,” Maazini replied. “I guess I’m stuck here.”
“No! Pa’s coming tomorrow night. I won’t leave you behind.”
“You might have to,” said Maazini. “A dragon never willingly sacrifices his rider.”
§
It didn’t matter how much Marlies slept, nothing lifted her bone-deep exhaustion. She nibbled on stale flatbread, but food didn’t really help much either. Doubt nagged at her. What if she never fully recovered from using piaua berries? As a healer, she’d treated people that couldn’t shake the effects of sudden illness—people who dragged themselves through life without energy or vitality. She didn’t want to be like that. Pushing to her feet, she forced herself to pace the cavern and keep her muscles active. She needed a task, something to take her mind off her physical state.
Her pacing took her past Maazini. Zaarusha had wanted her to rescue
him, but unless they could get his chain loose, there wasn’t much chance of that. Perhaps she could pry one of the links open. Rummaging through her pack, she hunted for her knife, but it was gone. That clumsy tharuk had left her bow and arrows and food, but taken her knives and the calling stone. Where was the logic in that? Maybe it assumed she couldn’t use an arrow at close range. More likely it didn’t think she’d seen it hide her pack.
Maazini lifted his head.
There was one job she could get done while she waited here: it was time to face her past. She approached Maazini, laying her hand on his head so they could mind-meld. “Maazini, I am thrilled that you have imprinted with my son. May your bond grow deep and be long-lasting.” Like her bond with Liesar—who’d risked her life to help her and Hans flee from Zaarusha’s wrath. Marlies hadn’t seen her dragon for years, but she had no doubt that they were still bonded.
“I recognize the timbre of your mind,” Maazini replied. “You seem familiar.” He cocked his head, gazing at her with solemn green eyes. “Have I met you before?”
Only when he was a shell-bound dragonet.
Zaarusha’s purple dragonet sprang to mind, floating dead in its translucent golden egg. Marlies gasped, yanking her hand off Maazini’s forehead. Oh Gods, had he seen? Would he hate her for killing his sibling? She shrank back, Zaarusha’s words echoing in her head: You fled—that was an act of cowardice.
She’d lived the last eighteen years in hiding. Would she live the next twenty the same way?
No, she couldn’t let cowardice color her actions—not anymore. Holding the image firmly in her mind, Marlies took a step toward Maazini and laid her hand on his snout.
Seeing her memory of the dragonet’s death, Maazini flinched. “That was you!” His tail twitched.
“Yes, it was me. I’m sorry I killed your sibling.” Marlies bowed her head, waiting for his wrath.
“His name was Dyanmar,” Maazini said, his voice rumbling in her mind. “As dragonets, even when shell-bound, we are linked, sharing thoughts and memories, and having access to the memories of all our dragon ancestors since the First Egg. I sensed you through him.”
“So that’s how you knew me.” The bitterness of her actions stung afresh.
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