Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures

by Eileen Mueller

  “Zaarusha is missing. We believe Fleur may want to harm her.”

  “Oh, fangs! Let’s go.” Gret ran alongside them, yanking another torch from the wall.

  “How long ago did you see them?” Ezaara asked.

  “Not long.”

  “They must have run the whole way,” Adelina panted as they passed the infirmary and sped along the tunnel to a cracked wooden door.

  Hinges creaking, Adelina yanked it open, revealing a steeply ascending tunnel. They stumbled up half-hewn steps, the flickering torchlight shadowing pitfalls that were a nightmare to negotiate.

  On and on they went. “Zaarusha.” There was no answer, not a glimmer from the queen.

  “How long is this cursed tunnel?”

  “We’re about halfway.” In front of her, Adelina’s torch moved steadily upward.

  A sharp cry rang out from behind. Ezaara spun, nearly losing her footing. Gret was on the ground, clutching her knee. Blood dripped from a deep gash that cut through her breeches into her knee. Gret’s torch rolled down the slope, coming to rest in a hollow, then guttered and died.

  Ezaara knelt beside her. “Did you trip? I’ll go and find your torch.”

  “Go on. I’ll catch up.” Gret’s eyes reflected the light from Adelina’s torch above. “You have to go. Now.”

  “She’s right, Ezaara. We can’t delay. Come on,” Adelina called.

  Torn, Ezaara dashed upward, leaving Gret injured and alone in the dark. It was wrong, on so many levels, for a healer to ignore an injury and abandon a friend.

  Soon, air grew fresher. They were nearing an exit.

  Adelina doused the torch, and they crept up the tunnel using their hands against the walls to guide them through the dark. Ezaara barked her shin against a rock, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out.

  The exit led to a huge plateau, stars glimmering above. Brightly burning torches on the rocky walls illuminated a blood-chilling scene. Simeon was stroking a gray dragon’s head, while Fleur tipped the contents of a large bottle into its maw.

  Zaarusha!

  Her stomach dropped. The queen’s scales were dull gray. There was no iridescence, not a flicker of color in the torchlight.

  “The queen is dying,” Adelina whispered.

  Ezaara leaped across the plateau, her feet seeming to grind against the stone forever, as if she was pushing her body through syrup. A sickly green glow emanated from the queen, although Ezaara knew no one else could see it. Sathir.

  Washed-out-gray, Zaarusha swallowed the substance. The queen’s head slumped to the ground and her body seemed to deflate—as if the life breath was leaking out of her.

  It was no use. She was too late. “Zaarusha!” Ezaara’s mind screamed.

  Hundreds of dragons roared mentally in reply.

  Except the dragon she loved.

  “No!” With a bellow, Ezaara barreled into Fleur, knocking her onto the rock. Fleur kneed her in the stomach. Clawed her face. Ezaara punched her, but Fleur was stronger than she’d thought. As they rolled and thrashed, she caught glimpses of Zaarusha’s scales, turning an ever-darker gray. With a desperate thrust, she flipped Fleur under her and drove her knee into Fleur’s groin, pressing her weight on Fleur’s torso.

  Cool metal kissed her neck. “Not so fast,” Simeon said, behind her.

  The sword’s kiss bit, cutting her skin. Warmth trickled down her neck, wafting the metallic tang of blood. A dark drop hit Fleur’s cheek.

  Fleur grinned. “Bleed, wench.”

  “Unhand my mother or my sword will bite deeper.” Typical Simeon, lyrical, even when threatening her.

  “Scum,” she spat, releasing her grip on Fleur. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”

  He yanked her to her feet, his sword rasping against her skin. She’d be no use to Zaarusha dead. Behind Simeon, a shadow slipped along the rocky walls. Adelina. Then another slower shadow. Gret. Ezaara had to keep Fleur and Simeon talking, to distract them.

  Simeon pulled her to his side, eyes roving over her body. “Well, I certainly know what I saw in you,” he sneered.

  “What have you done to the queen?”

  “Pretty face, but pretty stupid,” Simeon said.

  “Simeon,” Fleur warned, scrambling to her feet and dusting herself off. “Finish her off. We need to go. Ajeuria will be here soon.”

  So that was who the burning visions had come from.

  “I don’t know—maybe I’d like to play with her a little first, mother. Ajeuria can carry three.”

  If they took her, she’d have no chance of saving Zaarusha. “Why? Why did you do this, Simeon?” she asked, stalling. “I trusted you. You could’ve wooed me and ruled beside me.”

  “And lose the power Zens will give me?” Simeon scoffed. “His vision of the realm is far superior to anything dragons can offer.”

  Violence and hatred and an army of monsters? Superior to dragons and bonded riders protecting a realm? Simeon was far gone.

  Fleur strode to Zaarusha and placed her hand on the dragon’s forehead. “She’s waning. It shouldn’t take long now. Soon the realm will have no queen.” She grinned.

  Guilt knifed through Ezaara. She’d chosen Roberto instead of Zaarusha, and now the queen was dying. “What are Zens’ superior plans? If they’re really that good, maybe I should join you. I don’t want to be on the losing side. I’ve always liked you, Simeon.”

  “You really think I’m that dumb? I’m not going to fall for—”

  Adelina appeared behind Simeon, driving her knife up into his armpit. He released his blade, crying out.

  Pulling her sword from its scabbard, Ezaara leaped toward Fleur, but she was too late. Gret was already there.

  Fleur and Gret’s blades clashed and scraped as they fought, the sounds grating on Ezaara’s bones. Gret’s blade work was as good as ever, but her blood-soaked leg slowed her.

  With calculated moves, Fleur drove Gret past Zaarusha, pushing her ever closer to the cliff edge. Gret stumbled, but raised her sword to deflect Fleur’s blow to her head.

  Ezaara raced toward them.

  Zaarusha! No one was saving Zaarusha.

  “Ezaara,” Adelina screamed.

  Ezaara spun. Simeon was wrestling Adelina.

  Flapping filled the air. She whirled again. Ajeuria dived at Gret, grasping talons outstretched.

  With a desperate spurt, Ezaara shoved Fleur sideways, and dragged Gret back from the edge. Ajeuria roared, swooping down. Gripping her sword with both hands, Ezaara thrust it upward, aiming for the green dragon’s soft belly.

  A roar split the air. In a flash of midnight blue, barely visible against the dark sky, Ajeuria was yanked backward, screaming and twisting. Erob—with a death grip on Ajeuria’s neck, Roberto flat against his back. The dragons writhed, plunging toward the valley below.

  The air filled with the rumble of a rockslide. No, the flapping wings of a hundred dragons. Dragon cries ricocheted through her head.

  “We’re coming.” Singlar.

  “We heard your call.” Septimor.

  “Save the queen.” Vino, Jaevin’s dragon.

  They were coming. All of the dragons of Dragons’ Hold had heard her desperate cry that the queen was dying.

  But only one person could save Zaarusha.

  Ezaara raced over to Adelina’s bag near the tunnel and snatched it up. Gret was still fighting Fleur. Adelina was battling Simeon. Roberto and Erob could be killed. Ignoring it all, she raced to Zaarusha.

  Weak puffs of air issued from Zaarusha’s nostrils. Ezaara laid her hands on the queen’s skin. Nearly cold. Her scales were dark and flat.

  Gods, gods. Please.

  “Zaarusha.”

  Nothing, but she kept melding, talking to the queen. Focusing, Ezaara reached for sathir. A faint glimmering thread of life clung to Zaarusha—sickly green.

  Hurry. Hurry. Her fingers fumbled as she opened the bag. No, she needed to see sathir. To be calm. Breathing deeply, Ezaara examined the bag’s cont
ents, pulling corks off jars and vials, and sniffing.

  Woozy weed. Dragon’s bane. Some foul-smelling green stuff. Clean herb. Rumble weed. More of that ghastly sleeping-draught poison. Clear-mind. The antidote to limplock. A little blue bottle of clear liquid. Bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. How in the Egg’s name could she know the correct cure?

  Ithsar’s lizard, Thika, came to mind.

  Focusing on sathir, Ezaara held the bottle of the sleeping draught poison by Zaarusha’s slumped head. A sickly green emanated from the bottle. The poison dimmed Zaarusha’s life force. Good, hopefully the cure would show too.

  She held up a vial of limplock remedy. Nothing.

  The dragon’s bane. Dimmer.

  What about the woozy weed? Again, nothing.

  Zaarusha’s breathing was slowing, barely audible.

  Around her, the sounds of fighting dimmed as she focused on the queen, willing her to consciousness.

  Her hands shook as she held up item after item. The pale green thread faded until she could hardly see it. No, she was losing Zaarusha.

  Wait, it was her. She’d just lost focus and couldn’t sense sathir. She had to calm herself. There, the thread was back, but weak. There were now only three unidentified items left in Adelina’s bag.

  Ezaara held up a jar of Fleur’s healing unguent. Dimmer and sickly green—so that was laced with weak poison too. She grabbed the next, a blue bottle, and held it near Zaarusha’s head. A faint golden glow surrounded the bottle, connecting with Zaarusha’s life thread, making it shimmer with gold light.

  Just to be sure, Ezaara checked the last substance. Nothing.

  Relief washed over her. She had the antidote. But how could this tiny bottle save such a massive queen?

  Tooth and Talon

  Roberto clung to Erob’s back, his arms through the hand grips and legs cinched tight in the stirrups. His stomach somersaulted as Ajeuria bucked to free Erob’s fangs from her neck.

  Her tail lashed Erob’s side, the tip slamming into Roberto’s leg. He gritted his teeth, hanging on. Melded with Erob, Roberto felt Ajeuria’s talons rake Erob’s belly. The dragons snarled, twisting and thrashing.

  Below, the pines were like an army brandishing lances at the sky.

  “She can’t hold out forever,” Erob said.

  “We don’t have forever,” Roberto melded. “Any moment now, we’ll be speared on those trees.”

  Ajeuria blasted flame at Roberto as they plummeted earthward.

  §

  A hand grasped Ezaara’s shoulder. “How can I help?” asked Lars.

  “We need to feed this antidote to Zaarusha.”

  Nodding, Lars pushed Zaarusha’s upper lips onto the sharp tips of her fangs, making the dragon open her maw reflexively.

  Uncorking the bottle, Ezaara tipped clear liquid onto the queen’s tongue.

  “And now?”

  “Now, we wait.” Ezaara focused on Zaarusha’s life thread. Lars paced. She was dimly aware that the noises behind them were quieting. Soon, Zaarusha’s life thread glowed golden.

  “What’s happening?” Lars asked. “Is it enough?”

  The gold was fading. “No, I don’t think it is.”

  Lars ferreted through the jars and bottles. “Is that all we’ve got?”

  “Adelina found it. Tell her to fetch all the antidote she can find.” She passed Lars the tiny empty bottle.

  He glanced at the collection of vessels on the ground around Ezaara’s knees. “How will she know which one we’re looking for?”

  “It has a distinctive smell.”

  Lars sniffed it, wrinkling his nose. “Indeed. We’ll be back soon.”

  Ezaara stayed, hands pressed against Zaarusha’s side. “Zaarusha.” No answer. The thread looked the same as it had a few moments ago. Her queen was still unconscious.

  “I love you.” Roberto’s words blazed through her. Piercing pines grew ever closer in the moonlight. The rush of air and wind. Bucking writhing dragons. Him, holding on despite his leg searing. “Ezaara, I—”

  “Roberto!”

  Ripping her hands from Zaarusha, Ezaara rushed to the edge and gazed down. There was a burst of flame below. A roar. Then nothing but blackness.

  §

  Adelina watched helplessly as Erob latched onto Ajeuria and the dragons plunged through the sky. Roars ripped through the night, tearing at her heart, making her chest tight. Shards, her brother. With a surge of energy, she drove her knife upward, slashing Simeon’s wrist.

  He dropped his sword.

  She leaped through the air, flinging out her foot and driving it into his chest. He stumbled backward. She leaped and kicked again. Simeon went down.

  Adelina jumped on him, twisting his arm up his back, and pinned him to the ground.

  Moments later, blue guards arrived, taking Simeon off her hands.

  “I’ve been attacked!” Fleur pointed at Gret and Ezaara. “They attacked a master. Seize them!”

  The guards ignored Fleur’s outraged cries as they held her arms fast.

  “You may think you’re clever, Ezaara,” Fleur’s voice glittered with malice as she addressed the Queen’s Rider. “But there’s not enough antidote in the whole of Dragons’ Realm to save your queen.”

  Adelina shuddered as the guards bound Fleur and swept her off on one of their dragons.

  She helped Gret up. “Are you hurt badly?”

  Gret smiled through gritted teeth. “Been better. With our master healer poisoning the council, I’m not sure who’s going to heal me.”

  “Come on, Gret. There are others on duty in the infirmary.” A blue guard helped Gret onto his dragon.

  With shaking knees, Adelina stumbled past Ezaara and Lars, crouched by Zaarusha’s dull-scaled head, toward the edge of the plateau.

  Lars waved a bottle. “Adelina, we urgently need to get more antidote for the queen.”

  Who to save? Her brother? Or her queen? Her queen who’d helped banish her brother. No one had believed him innocent except herself and Erob. Now he was plunging to the valley, risking his life for his queen again.

  It seemed like hours since she’d discovered Fleur’s stash of hidden remedies—and poisons. Numbly, she nodded and climbed upon Singlar. She’d see Roberto from the air soon enough—if there was anything left to see.

  Lars climbed on behind her and patted her shoulder. “He’ll be all right. He’s an experienced rider.”

  But Erob was falling, not flying.

  Singlar leaped into the sky. Adelina scanned the basin below, searching through the patches of moonlight and shadows for—there, a burst of flame, a roar, then nothing.

  Gods, no! He’d been beaten, turned traitor, imprinted and saved, only to be banished, then return—and now this? It was too much. Tears tracked down Adelina’s face, bitterly cold in the night wind. She clung to Lars’ back, burying her face in his jerkin.

  His voice rumbled through his back. “Roberto will be all right.”

  But his words were hollow. How could Lars know? Hope caught, half-formed in her throat. “Has Singlar melded with Erob?”

  “He’s trying.” Lars pressed a bottle into her hand. “We need more of this stuff. You’ll know it by the scent.”

  He was deliberately keeping her busy. Adelina uncorked the bottle and sniffed. Ew, gross. “Lars, I don’t know if there’s any more. Fleur said—”

  “Hurry,” Lars said, leaping down as Singlar landed outside the infirmary. “Zaarusha is dying.”

  Inside the infirmary, Kierion and a young girl were bandaging Gret’s leg. No one else was around.

  “Thank the Egg, you’re here, Kierion,” Lars said to him. “We need the antidote to a poison that’s killing Zaarusha. Help us find it.”

  Kierion sprang to his feet. “What am I looking for?”

  Adelina shoved the empty bottle under his nose. “Anything that smells like this.”

  “Phew! At least it’s distinctive.”

  “You search out here. Lars and
I will look in Fleur’s secret stash.” Adelina rushed Lars into Fleur’s alcove. “I found that bottle in here.”

  They frantically rummaged through the shelves, opening bottles and jars and smelling the contents.

  “Not this one.” Lars set the bottle aside and snatched up another.

  It seemed to take forever. The whole time, Adelina fought the dark panic rising inside her. Still no word of Roberto. “We’ve looked everywhere,” she finally said. “There isn’t any more.”

  Lars flung his hands out. “We’ll turn the whole infirmary upside down until we find it. Then search the whole of Dragons’ Hold. We have to save our queen.” He strode out of the alcove.

  Adelina hurried after him.

  “Whoa, Kierion,” Lars called. “You’ve torn the place apart.”

  Drawers were yanked open, mattresses and sheets had been ripped off beds, and Kierion was sprawled on the floor with his head and arms inside a mattress, ferreting around. He emerged, triumphant, hair full of straw, with bottles in his hands. “Look what I found!”

  “We’ve no time to waste.” Lars slashed the pallet open with his knife, and yanked back the straw, revealing a cluster of jars, bottles and tubs, each carefully wrapped in sheep wool.

  “I figured Fleur would be more likely to hide stuff in a spare mattress than in the ones patients use.” Kierion gestured to some pallets stacked against the wall. “There are a few more to check yet.”

  Adelina undid the corks and test-sniffed the contents. “None are the antidote.”

  Where was Roberto?

  Surely, if he was injured, he would’ve been brought to the infirmary by now. Was he dead? Dread filled her like an ominous tide. “Lars, have you heard from Singlar yet?”

  Grim lines tugging at his mouth, Lars shook his head.

  §

  Zaarusha’s glimmering thread was fading, her breathing slowing again. The antidote had helped, but it wasn’t enough. Melding with the queen wasn’t working. Or with Roberto. Or Erob. “Singlar,” Ezaara melded, “Zaarusha’s fading again. Are Erob and Roberto all right?”

  “We’re nearly there.” At least she could reach someone. Within moments, Singlar landed at the imprinting grounds.

  Kierion jumped off Singlar, cradling a bottle as tall as an ear of corn. “We found the antidote,” he announced. “And lots of it.”