The Frost Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Nora turned to Krey and Ovrun. “His cousin was there for over a month, and he came home three months ago. That lines up with the king’s two-hundredth anniversary tour.”

  Krey nodded. The king must’ve needed to share his magic with both the trog and The Overseer for it to last long enough until he could visit again. But why had the trog magic eater gone home? Wouldn’t it be better to have two mind controllers rather than one? He returned his attention to the archer. “Why did your cousin stop working there?”

  The archer blinked rapidly, and a tear escaped one eye. “I tell you, he is mind sick. They say he is too sick to help them.”

  “What do you mean by mind sick?” Nora asked softly.

  “My cousin is young when he finds his brain magic. He uses it one time. We trogs know this magic. It is dangerous. A terrible power. His mother never lets him use it again. But when the king asks for help, my cousin says yes. In that building, he eats brain every day. So much, it steals his mind. The king comes back. He sends my cousin home.” The archer made a motion with his hands around his head, like his wiggling fingers were muddling up his brain. “His words are jumbled. He forgets his own name. He punches people. Every day, he gets worse.”

  Krey released a sigh. The poor guy. “Did he tell you what he did in the big building?”

  The archer started crying harder, so the woman spoke for him. “When he first comes home, he can talk a little. He tells us he lives in the big building with a woman brain eater. She controls all the soldiers. She teaches him. He helps her.” The woman pointed straight at Krey, eyes blazing. “And your king is the boss of it all! He gives his power to our trog and the other woman. With his power, they control the soldiers. How can we fight a king who is so strong? Strong enough to share his evil magic with others? We cannot. So we let the soldiers stay here. Some trogs even help them.”

  “Would you fight them if you could?” Krey asked.

  The woman nodded firmly, and the archer replied, “Hell yes.”

  Compared to normal trog speech, the slang phrase seemed out of place. Krey cleared his throat, suppressing a chuckle. “Then help us,” he said. “We will do everything we can to give your city back to you.” He gave in and grinned. “We even have a dragon.”

  “So do they,” the woman said.

  Krey leaned across the table, locking the woman’s gaze in his own. “Their dragon is only cooperating because they captured and threatened his mate. We freed her. She’s the one flying above us right now. We’ll free the dragon at the warehouse, and he’ll help us.”

  “How do you know this?” the woman demanded.

  Krey licked his lips, then pressed them together, unsure whether he should answer the question.

  Nora made the decision for him. “We know because I can talk to dragons.”

  The woman’s eyebrows shot up, but she quickly recovered. She stood and gazed at her three guests. “We will fight with you. When?”

  Krey stood. “Today.”

  35

  We used to play a game called How. We kids would think of a preday item and ask our parents as many questions about it as we could, until we came up with a question they couldn’t answer.

  “Beverage maker!” one of us would shout.

  Then the questions began. How did it work? How was it made? How were those components made? How much did it cost? How did you buy one? How were they stored before they were sold? How were they disposed of?

  Our parents’ answers were filled with words that had little meaning in our world: circuits, warehouses, solar energy, digital currency, recycling. Eventually, we stumped them with our questions, but not before their answers thoroughly confused us.

  It seems to me that preday convenience was impossibly complicated.

  -The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios

  Thank the stone for winter’s late sunrises. The early-morning sky was still dark, hiding Krey and the dragon he was riding.

  Krey held onto Taima’s textured skin with fingers that were already sore from their previous flights—especially his right hand, which was still sensitive even after their visit to the healer. So help me, if dragon riding becomes a regular thing, somebody’s gotta come up with a good saddle. He started imagining what a saddle for such a massive beast might look like. Then they took a sharp turn, and all rational thought escaped his mind.

  “Please be careful,” he gasped. “I almost fell just now.”

  The dragon’s massive head turned, and moonlight reflected off one of her faceted eyes. At that moment, he was glad he couldn’t hear her thoughts. She probably despised carrying this whiny human on her regal back.

  Well, I’m not any more thrilled about it than you are, you overgrown reptid.

  Krey, Nora, and Ovrun had agreed that someone should ride on Taima’s back to survey the area. Taima could then pass on any pertinent information to both Osmius and Nora on the ground.

  Krey had nominated Ovrun for the dragon ride. Ovrun had refused, saying that if something unexpected came up, he wanted to defend them all. Even with a sore arm, he was still the best fighter. Krey had taken the assignment with more than a few muttered curses. He’d have preferred to fly on his own, but he needed to conserve his fuel.

  He looked down and squinted, trying to see Nora, Ovrun, and the trogs. They were supposed to be hiding in various spots near the militia warehouse. Between the elevation and the dark sky, he couldn’t see anything. He had to trust they were all in their places, ready to proceed with the plan.

  Any minute now, the female trog they’d negotiated with would approach the warehouse office and demand to speak with the people in charge. Hopefully, her distraction would delay any planned patrols so that Taima could rescue Osmius. Taima still had mushu leaves in her claws, and Krey’s backpack contained all the leaves he’d gathered. The female dragon wouldn’t just free her mate; she’d restore his fire.

  If the trog leader occupied the militia leaders long enough, the dragons would use the opportunity to burn a hole in the metal building, creating an entrance for Krey and the others. Maybe, if everything went perfectly, they’d rescue the sleeping lysters and bring down The Overseer before any of the militia leaders even knew they were under attack.

  A light caught Krey’s eye. Someone had just stepped out of the office. The person walked into the massive bay where Osmius was imprisoned.

  “That’s probably Cage,” Krey told Taima. “He’s their dragon speaker. Tell Nora to tell the trog leader not to approach until Cage goes back inside.” He continued to ramble, finding it distracted him from his panic. “Osmius might’ve told you this, but Cage kept him in line by threatening to hurt you. So, you know, he’s a real great guy. He—” His words were cut off by Taima’s huge wing, which had bent in a way he wouldn’t have dreamed possible, curving up to slap him on the backside.

  “What was that?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual. Taima repeated the gesture, and Krey took the hint and shut up. Likely, she was communicating with her mate and couldn’t hear past the talkative teenager on her back. He continued to scan the street.

  With no warning, Taima dove at such a steep angle, Krey’s boots lost their grip on her skin, and his whole body lifted. He couldn’t help it; he screamed. Sweat broke out on his palms and fingers. His grip slipped.

  Just as he let go of the dragon’s skin and felt the wind shove him into the open air, his addled brain remembered a glorious truth. I can fly too. Just half an hour ago, he’d fueled up with feathers and ice, all provided by the trogs. “God!” he gasped, a one-word plea, as he plummeted and tried to turn on his magic.

  His talent responded, lifting him high into the sky. His first instinct was to fly far away from this insane, diving dragon and the havoc she seemed intent on wreaking, but he brought his focus back to who was waiting below. Zeisha. He had to convince Taima to stick to the plan. He went into a steep dive, just as the dragon had done. Taima had landed in the street, and he touched down next to her head.r />
  “We have to get back in the air,” Krey hissed. “If anyone sees you, you’ll mess up our whole plan.”

  Taima didn’t even look at him. Her face was pointed straight at her mate’s prison cell. Krey continued to whisper to her, begging her to leave.

  Cage exited the prison bay. When he saw Taima, he flinched, yelped, and dropped his lantern.

  A thought flitted through Krey’s mind: Good thing the lantern oil didn’t catch on fire. Then the entire street lit up as Taima breathed pure-white fire on the man who’d manipulated her imprisoned mate.

  “No!” Krey cried, but he could barely hear his own voice over Cage’s screams. Taima’s fire did not abate. The man fell to his knees. At last, his agonized cries ceased. Taima stepped forward and continued her fiery onslaught, consuming the dragon speaker’s clothes, body, and broken lantern. When she stopped, Cage was nothing more than a pile of smoldering, black, unidentifiable matter.

  Taima ran toward the bay where Osmius was being kept. Krey watched her, his mouth open. She shoved her mushu leaves into the space, then stepped forward as far as she could. Blinding, white light shone from the huge room. Taima was melting her mate’s thick chains, a task that might take several minutes.

  Suddenly, it struck Krey that he was standing all alone in the middle of the road. He shot up into the air, then realized he still had a backpack full of mushu leaves. He zoomed back down and threw the whole bag into the big bay, hoping it didn’t get caught in the line of Taima’s fire.

  Everything was quiet. Krey circled over the street. As the minutes passed, he found himself wondering if somehow Cage’s screams had gone unnoticed.

  Then a loud, grating noise filled the air. Narrow bands of light appeared at the bottoms of the four massive bay doors to the left of the dragon prison chamber. The strips of light grew larger as the tall doors slowly rose.

  Another movement caught Krey’s eye. Taima was returning to the street, followed by Osmius. Shackles remained on his back legs, but the chains were broken.

  The grinding noise of the doors opening was joined by the earsplitting cracks of two sets of dragon wings unfurling. Both dragons joined Krey in the air, just as the four bay doors stopped moving.

  Lines of people, all carrying lanterns, exited the bays. They positioned themselves in the street, still as statues. They all wore tight shirts and pants made of gray fabric. Krey quickly counted them. Thirty-five.

  In unison, all the militia members moved. Some began to jog, still carrying their lanterns. Others stayed in place and shot fire, ice, stones, and vines into the sky, all aimed at the dragons and the human hovering above them.

  Krey and both dragons flew higher. The magic eaters below intensified their attacks. They were all young, but they were shockingly powerful. Their stones and ice were like bullets; their fire was unremitting; their vines just kept coming. I guess that’s what happens when you’re forced to practice nonstop for months, and you have no fear.

  When Krey was out of the line of fire, he leveled off and hovered high in the air. His eyes followed a vine that was still rising. The person shooting it appeared to be male. Krey’s gaze shifted to another vine, thick and strong, that was falling back to the ground. He tracked it to its source. He couldn’t see the facial features of the person wielding such magic, but there was enough lantern light for him to make out one detail: a wild mass of shiny, black curls.

  Zeisha.

  Krey’s entire body surged with energy. Desperate to reach Zeisha, he went into a steep dive. He’d pick her up and carry her far away, out of The Overseer’s mental range.

  He only made it a few mets before Osmius flew directly beneath him, catching Krey on his broad back. Krey screamed in frustration, but the shock of being picked up in such a way also forced his mind back to a logical track.

  If he picked up Zeisha, she might kill him. He was willing to die for her, but if she was still imprisoned, it would be a meaningless sacrifice. He and his allies had to stick with the heart of their original plan: Find The Overseer. Disable her or kill her so the magic eaters can escape.

  Osmius flapped his wings and made a gentle turn. He and Taima both landed on a tall roof. Krey dismounted. As he refueled with feathers, he took in the scene below.

  The bay doors were closed. The militia members who’d started running had now taken positions around the entire warehouse. As Krey watched, a feather eater collected three comrades and carried them, one under each arm and one on his back, to the roof. He set them down, and all the soldiers went still.

  Thirty-five skilled magic eaters surrounded the building Krey needed to enter. He had no doubt they would all protect their Overseer with their lives.

  Nora didn’t even want to speak to Taima. Now was no time to hold a grudge, of course, but it was hard not to. The trog leader was supposed to create a perfect distraction so they could carry out their entire plan undetected.

  Too late for that, she thought. What are we supposed to do now?

  Nora, Ovrun, and four trogs were hiding between two buildings, half a block from the warehouse. She peeked out from behind a corner, wishing she could see more from this distance.

  Osmius spoke into Nora’s mind. Thirty-five magic eaters are guarding every side of the building, including four on the roof. They attacked us with magic, but we are safe, including Krey and Taima. We are on the tall roof you waited on earlier. He paused, then added, Nora-human, you freed my mate. Thank you. It was at least the fifth time he’d thanked her.

  We need to figure out what’s next, Nora said.

  The militia will attack if we approach.

  Nora took a deep breath and turned to Ovrun. “There are four lysters on the roof. The others are around the building, waiting. What do we do next?”

  “We have to get to The Overseer. The only way to do that is to fight.”

  Nora nodded. She didn’t like the answer, but she’d known it was coming. Their newly allied force included seven lysters: her, Krey, and five trogs. That didn’t sound great compared to three dozen members of a lyster militia. However, Nora’s force also included forty non-magical trogs who were ready to fight, plus two dragons.

  All they had to do was get inside the building and incapacitate The Overseer—a woman who could control them if she touched them. And as they fought their way in, they had to protect the very people they were fighting. The goal was to save the militia members, not kill them.

  This would not be easy.

  Her eyes took in the trogs, who all wore black shirts. Were they trustworthy? They wanted to protect their territory, but if things got bad, would they slink back to their hiding places? Or would they run to get their bows so they could kill everyone?

  All the unknowns dug into her mind, shredding her confidence. This wasn’t a game. Moments from now, she’d be risking her life. And despite the difficulties of the last few weeks—eating too much shimshim meat, sleeping on a hard warehouse floor, and learning the truth about her father—she treasured her life in a way she never had before.

  She’d met Krey, a friend who made her laugh. Sure, he had a tendency to blow his top, and he’d probably never trust her family, but he trusted her. Did he have any idea how much that meant to her?

  Then there was Ovrun, the guy who was sweeter than anyone she’d ever spent time with, whose ridiculous physique distracted her even at a time like this. Despite their hopeless future, he made her feel adored in a way no one ever had before.

  She blinked against tears that wanted to fall, then took Ovrun’s hand. When he looked at her, she beckoned him to bend down. He did, and she whispered in his ear, “I don’t want to die.”

  Despite the four trogs with them, he used his good arm to pull her into a tight hug. She knew he meant it to comfort her, but all she could think was, Oh, those muscles. As ridiculous as the thought was at a time like this, desire provided its own brand of comfort.

  “I will do absolutely anything I can to keep you alive,” His breath was warm on her ear.
“I’m scared too, Nora. But we’re fighting for something worthwhile. We got this.”

  “We’ve got this,” she whispered back, half-believing it. On a whim, she added, “A kiss before we go?”

  He pulled away, grinning. “Not ‘til we get out of this alive.”

  She shook her head, but she was smiling too. If he was trying to motivate her, it worked. She forced her smile to flee, took a deep breath, and addressed her little group with a voice that sounded more confident than she felt. “It’s time to fight.”

  Ovrun held his fingers to his mouth and let out a loud whistle. That was the sign for everyone to come out of hiding. He ran into the street, followed by Nora and the others.

  Ahead, the soldiers let out a shout, all at the same pitch, at precisely the same time. It was eerie, far more frightening than if they’d screamed out threats.

  The mind-controlled militia set down their lanterns and waited for their attackers.

  36

  My parents always told me I should only use my magic for good. But I loved creeping up to the door of my brother’s room with a branch in my hand and making it grow long enough to tickle his ear. It didn’t matter how often I did it; he jumped every time.

  -The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios

  When Krey heard Ovrun’s whistle, he soared into the sky, determined to neutralize a couple of militia members before anyone spotted him. The dragons, too, flew off the roof. They had their own plan for assisting in the battle.

  Krey halted above the warehouse roof and shot a ball of ice from each hand. One met its mark, hitting a young man in the head hard enough to send him to his knees. The other glanced off a female lyster’s shoulder. She cried out and pointed at Krey.