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

by Eileen Mueller

  Swayweed tea.

  Lofty winked at him. “Of course I will, Bill.” He turned back to Pa, rolling his eyes. “My father come to see you this morning?”

  “Yes,” Pa whispered. “He’s recruiting those who will fight, but there aren’t enough. See who you can find. Young, fit, strong. Although your Pa has never fought tharuks, he’ll train them as well as he can.” Hans shook his head. “If only I was out of here.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Tomaaz asked. “I could drill them in sword fighting.”

  Deep grooves furrowed Pa’s forehead. “Not now, you can’t. Go and rest in bed,” he said. “Heal up before those beasts arrive.”

  Pa thought he was useless because he was injured. Tension coiled deep in Tomaaz’s belly, like a tharuk tusk driving through his innards.

  §

  Gingerly, Lovina stirred, bracing herself. Bill’s kick never came. Neither did his usual guttural shout. Something was odd. There was no dull ache in her back. No searing. No pain at all. Then she remembered.

  Earlier today, Ana had healed her, telling her that not even piaua juice could erase such extensive scarring. It’d been years since her back hadn’t been ripped bloody by Bill’s lash. Every day she’d carried that pain. Some days it had swallowed her.

  Now it was gone.

  Her hand brushed against the softest fabric she’d felt since … distant memories tried to break through, like glimmers, but swirling fog devoured them. She sat up, rolling her shoulders, allowing herself to smile, a fleeting tentative thing.

  The floorboards creaked. Through the gray shrouding her vision, a man approached, reaching out a hand. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

  Lovina flinched, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling in on herself. Bill had always said that, the yellow gleam of swayweed bright in his eyes as he raised the whip. She huddled against the wall.

  The man placed something on the bed, then retreated. “The berries are for you. They’ll help the fog go away.”

  The man must be lying. Why would he want to lift the fog? Lovina couldn’t remember life without the debilitating blanket across her vision and mind. She peered through the gray at three burnt-orange berries, shriveled with age, on the quilt.

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  “No!” The whisper burst from her in a violent exhalation. She snatched the berries. They were dry—tiny nuggets of hope clutched tight in her hand.

  What had Bill said? His water made her biddable. Obedient. Lovina snorted. Bill’s water enslaved her to his will. This man had offered her water too. What did he want? She sat on the bed, gripping the berries, staring at him, fog weaving between them, keeping her newly-healed back pressed hard against the wall.

  §

  Lofty helped Tomaaz off the horse. “Why do you want to see Lovina anyway?” he asked. “I thought you liked Beatrice.”

  “Huh! Not anymore.” The hurt of Beatrice spitting on Tomaaz still rankled, but it was nothing compared to what Bill had done to Lovina. “He deserves his hands cut off, Bill does.” Tomaaz clenched his fists. “Treating his daughter like that.”

  “I doubt she’s his daughter. They say tharuks often reward their spies with slaves from Death Valley.”

  “Death Valley!” Could Lovina really have been there? From living hell with Zens to further hell with Bill—a bleak existence. Tomaaz would never forget the blood-red, pus-yellow and faded-scar latticework across her back. Those whip marks were seared into his brain, hotter than the burns on his shins.

  “She’s in the littlings room,” Lofty said as they crossed the threshold to his home.

  Tomaaz hobbled past the kitchen table, toward the bedroom.

  Ana closed a door with a click. Her shrewd eyes turned to Tomaaz. “You’re here to see Lovina?”

  He nodded, reaching for the door handle.

  Ana placed a hand on his forearm. “Go softly. See if she’ll take the clear-mind berries we gave her.”

  Clear-mind—to combat numlock. “I’ll try.” He turned the handle.

  The room was bright with sunlight. The large bed for Lofty’s three youngest brothers was pushed up against the wall. Lovina was scrunched in the corner, bleary-eyed, her face pinched with suspicion and fear.

  Tomaaz closed the door and sat in a chair, resting his throbbing legs. So much mistrust. So tense and scared—not that he blamed her.

  “Lovina,” he scarcely dared breathe her name, afraid of startling her. “I trust Ernst and Ana. I’ve known them all my life. When I was small, we used to fish for freshwater lobsters in the creek. You know the ones?”

  Her gaze flitted to the window, the door, around the walls and back to his face.

  Her fear made his chest ache. He and Ezaara had grown up surrounded by love. Imagine living the way Lovina had.

  Actually, he couldn’t imagine it at all.

  §

  Tomaaz spun stories of sunny littling days in streams and forests, playing outdoors with his sister and friend. His gentle voice floated through Lovina’s fog, his golden hair catching the sun. She leaned forward, straining to hear as he wove tales of the desert lands over the Naobian sea, the thriving metropolis of Montanara and the lush green flatlands past the Grande Alps.

  The gray mists still swamped her, stopping her mind from forming pictures, but his words were soothing. Lovina’s muscles loosened and she closed her eyes, listening.

  “Lovina, do you want to be free of the fog?”

  Hearing him rise, she snapped her eyes open. No fog meant feeling pain. She shook her head, gripping the berries tighter.

  §

  As a gold-tinged dawn tickled the treetops, Tomaaz walked to Lofty’s house. Ana’s healing poultice had helped his burns, but by the time he got there, his legs were throbbing.

  Lofty craned his head around the door, a gaggle of littling brothers clutching his legs. “Tomaaz! How did you get here? Don’t tell me you walked? Yesterday’s horse ride nearly did you in.”

  Tomaaz shrugged. “Can’t keep a good man down.” He went into the house and approached Ana. “Has Lovina taken her clear-mind berries yet?”

  “No, but she’s awake. Maybe you could try again.”

  All he’d done was soothe her with stories. The poor girl needed more than that. She needed a real healer, like Ma. Shards, where was Ma? Heading straight for tharuks? He swallowed, hoping she was all right.

  Lovina was hunched amid the crumpled bedding.

  “Good morning, Lovina.”

  Head tilted, she started, a curtain of lank hair falling over her thin face.

  Tomaaz sat down and started his story telling. He was soon interrupted by Ana, holding two bowls of steaming porridge laced with honey. After only eating flatbread for the last day, the aroma was like breathing in heaven.

  “Thank you.”

  “See if you can get her to eat,” Ana whispered. “She’s so thin.”

  Tomaaz carried the bowls to Lovina’s bedside, talking the entire way. “You must be hungry. This looks delicious. Here.” He put her bowl on the bedside table, sitting near her bed. Then he picked up his spoon and dug in. “Mm, Ana makes the best porridge in Lush Valley.”

  Lovina shook the hair out of her face. She flared her nostrils, licking her lips. Her hungry eyes watched his spoon go from his bowl to his mouth and back, twice, before he realized what the problem was.

  “Lovina, it’s not poisoned.” Using his spoon, Tomaaz ate a mouthful of her food. “See?”

  She shook her head, glancing at her own spoon.

  “And your spoon’s all right too. Look.” He used her spoon to take a mouthful from his bowl. “I can get you a fresh portion, if you want.”

  She snatched her bowl and spoon from him. Within moments, she’d downed a few spoonfuls and put the bowl down, clutching her stomach.

  She’d eaten so little. What had Bill fed her? How had she survived?

  §

  Although Tomaaz’s stories were funny, over the last ei
ght years with Bill, the well of laughs inside Lovina had run dry. How could she ever feel anything again? Except endless pain and the weight of drudgery. And the gray, pressing her flat against the ground, all fire gone out of her, bending her to Bill’s will.

  Lovina’s fog seemed thinner. Or was it because Tomaaz was so near that she could see the startling green of his eyes? He watched her, weaving a peaceful melody with his quiet words.

  Then he stopped.

  Beyond the window, birds called. The silence in the room stretched. His eyes on hers, Tomaaz slowly reached out. Lovina wanted to shrink back, but the kindness in his gaze pinned her.

  “Lovina.” His touch was gentle as he prized her fingers open. “Lovina,” he whispered, “take the clear-mind and free yourself.”

  She shouldn’t trust anyone, but she parted her lips and popped the berries in her mouth.

  He took her cup of water from the bedside and drank deeply from it, then passed it to her. His message was clear: if it’s poisoned, I’ll die with you.

  She clutched the cold metal of the cup and swigged water down her parched throat. It was cool, refreshing. Pure—not tinged with numlock, like the awful stuff Bill gave her.

  Tomaaz smiled, sunlight catching in his blond hair. He leaned back against the wall, wincing as he moved his legs, and fell asleep.

  Gradually, the fog drifted from Lovina’s vision until she could see him clearly for the first time. His sleeping eyes were fringed with blond lashes and he was smiling faintly in his sleep. His tousled hair hung across his shoulders, which rose and fell as he breathed. His hands had callouses from hard work, but were clean, and his nails were neatly trimmed.

  Lovina glanced at her own. The nails that weren’t ripped and torn were pitted with black grime. Her hands were scarred where Bill had burnt her with hot coals when she’d been too slow making his swayweed tea. And she had callouses, too, many more than Tomaaz.

  There was a slight change in Tomaaz’s breathing.

  Lovina looked up, trapped by his green gaze.

  The fog on her feelings lifted, and something tight unfurled inside her chest.

  Western Settlement

  Tharuk 458 slugged back the last of its ale and stomped across the road to pee in the forest. At the sound of bird wings, it looked up. An old crow was flapping haphazardly, losing height. As it neared, the crow squawked Zen’s two-note call. It wanted to talk. Stepping out onto the road, 458 held its arm out so the crow could land. The silly bird was so tired, it dropped in the dirt at 458’s feet.

  Picking the crow up, 458 touched its furry fingers to the bird’s skull. Zens had drilled his tharuks for weeks, teaching them how to mind-meld with these daft birds. Sometimes their messages were garbled, but this crow’s message was clear. “Find this tall female with black hair.” The bird relayed the woman’s image and scent through its memories.

  Zens’ stones did that. Implanted in the birds’ heads, they allowed birds to mind-meld when touching someone, and enhanced these puny bird-brains’ sense of smell—useful for a tracker. His nostrils twitched out of habit, trying to catch the elusive smell of this woman, but he couldn’t. A dragon rider, she’d make a fine prize for Zens, alive or dead.

  The bird croaked under its fingers. “Alive,” it melded. “The spy said capture her alive.”

  “Of course,” melded the tracker. That still left scope for torture. After their troop’s ruined infiltration into Lush Valley, he and his underlings had been killing time in the tavern, rather than returning to Commander Zens. Losing an entire troop on the Western Pass was not an incident Zens could laugh off. Hands would be severed. Yes, hands and feet, not just a harmless ear or toe. Heads could roll.

  “Not finished,” the bird croaked in his mind. “This is the new Queen’s Rider.”

  A light-haired female shot into his mind. He knew that one—she’d been riding the beast that had slaughtered his troop, flaming them, high in the mountain pass, just two days ago. The crow squawked again. Another message? 458 kept his hands on the bird’s head.

  “The Queen’s Rider is the dark-haired woman’s daughter,” the crow said.

  Good, it would make the dark female’s suffering even more enjoyable, knowing he was avenging his troops. “Where is this dark-haired female? How can I find her?” he asked.

  “On her way here,” the crow replied.

  Thick globules of hunting saliva dribbled off 458’s tusks. When she got here, 458 would be ready.

  §

  After two weary days, Marlies reined Star in near the ring road around Western Settlement. Her backside was aching, her back was sore, and Star needed a decent rest. While Star cropped tufts of grass at the forest’s edge, Marlies dismounted and crept forward, peering through the foliage. On the other side of the road, bright lamplight shone through the windows of Nick’s inn. Voices and laughter drifted through an open shutter. The clack of nukils meant a game was going on in the taproom. A cart rumbled along the road, loaded with hay, and a lone rider or two passed, making Star prick up her ears.

  Marlies ate some freshweed to mask her scent, waiting for it to take effect. Her years of being a Dragon Corps spy for Tonio and Zaarusha had taught her stealth. That beacon fire had been a clear warning. Anything could be waiting.

  When the road and the inn’s grounds were clear, Marlies took Star into the stable yards, settling her into a stall, feeding and watering her and brushing her down. She scratched her mare’s nose. “Thank you, girl.” Her horse would never make it over the Western Alps, so she’d be going on foot from here. Star nuzzled her hand. Marlies gave her one last pat and, with stinging eyes, left the stables.

  Ezaara was gone. As the daughter of a dragonet killer, she’d be facing scorn and prejudice. And Tomaaz and Hans would soon be in danger. She could lose everyone and still fail Zaarusha.

  Zaarusha’s words sprang to mind, making her insides churn. You fled—that was an act of cowardice. She had no one but herself to blame, and who was she to complain? The queen had lost everyone she loved: her rider, Anakisha; her mated dragon, Syan; his rider, Yanir; her purple dragonet; and now, the latest blow, her son.

  Marlies straightened her shoulders. She had to try, for her queen’s sake. And if she succeeded, somewhere out there, her silver-scaled Liesar was waiting. She slipped through the shadows to the back door of the inn and opened it a crack. Good, no one was around. She stepped inside. Now, to find Nick.

  The kitchen door burst open, and a gangly figure bowled out, laden with platters. As the door swung shut behind him, his eyebrows shot up. “Marlies?” he whispered.

  “Hello, Nick.” He was leaner, but his eyes still danced with merriment, and that ropey scar from a tharuk’s claws still twisted across his left cheek and down his neck. Twenty years ago, she’d managed to stop him bleeding out, but the result wasn’t pretty.

  “Wait here a moment,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” As he opened the taproom door, the stench of rot wafted out. A guttural growl made her neck prickle.

  Tharuks—here in Nick’s inn. Years ago, Nick had been a loyal dragon friend. Had he turned? Half her instincts screamed to flee, and the other half said to trust him. Paralyzed, Marlies hesitated.

  The taproom door opened and Nick came back out. “Let’s get you a room before someone discovers you’re here.” He whisked her up the stairs and ushered her inside a room, closing the door behind him.

  Weary, Marlies sank into a chair. “Since when do you serve them?”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Since they turned up two days ago, telling me they’d kill my family if I didn’t.”

  Two days ago—when Zaarusha had come. Was he telling the truth? “How many trackers, mind-benders and grunts?”

  He grinned. “Just like the old days. Always sharp, weren’t you?” His face grew serious. “Three tharuks: one tracker—a big mean-looking cur—and two dull-witted grunts. They’re rooming downstairs.” Nick leaned in. “A crow arrived yesterday and, since then, they’ve been asking a
round town after a tall dark-haired woman. They’ve checked every tavern in town.”

  Marlies frowned. “Tharuks have trained crows to carry messages?”

  “There was no message tube tied to the crow’s leg. My son, Urs, saw the tracker touching the crow’s head. He thinks tharuks can mind-meld with them.”

  Strange. But then, why would Bill have been carrying a crow? And what about the bird that had swooped over her as she’d left Lush Valley? Bill’s malicious gaze still made her flesh crawl. Could it have been his bird that Urs had seen?

  “I’m sorry, Marlies, but there’s worse news.” Nick shook his head. “Since the tracker melded with that bird, it has been sniffing all around the village. I think it’s got your scent.”

  A chill skittered across Marlies’ shoulders. If tharuks took her, she’d never save Zaarusha’s son. She stood, pulling her rucksack back on her shoulders. “I have to leave.”

  Nick put a hand on her arm. “Marlies, you look exhausted. Stay and rest. I’ll drop some woozy weed into the tharuks’ next ale.”

  This was it: she either trusted Nick or she didn’t. Actually, she didn’t have much choice. She was as worn out as Hans’ holey old boots. She’d sleep with her dagger on her pillow tonight. Marlies slumped back in the chair. “And then what? I sneak out at the crack of dawn while they’re still out cold?”

  “Let me think about it. I’ll meddle with their drinks, then bring you up some dinner. We can talk then.”

  “Be careful, Nick. Don’t let them catch you.”

  When Nick left, Marlies locked the door and checked the window. It was a bit squeaky, but, in a pinch, she could jump to the ground. Leaving her rucksack packed and her dagger unsheathed, she rested until Nick returned with a plate of dark stew and mashed potatoes.

  “The two grunts are out like doused lamps, snoring in the taproom,” he said, passing her the plate. “The tracker’s big, though, so the woozy weed it took may take longer to work.”