He kept an eye on the forest, sure they were being followed. A shadow flitted through the trees, to his right, behind him. And again. Yes, it was a tracker. Might as well smoke the beggar out into the open. The next chance he had, he’d stop and invite the tracker to play.
Dread trickled down his spine. A hundred things could go wrong. Giant John mopped his brow. It was a chance he’d have to take.
§
The big oaf had stopped in a clearing and was standing on the wagon, rummaging in a sack of vegetables. Worse than a blind pig, the idiot had his back to a large tree with an overhanging branch.
The man’s scent wafted toward 476.
476 slunk behind the tree.
Even better, the dolt was whistling. Good, that would cover the sound of its claws scraping against the bark as it scaled the trunk. The tracker crawled along the branch until it was right above the oaf, who was slicing an apple with a puny-looking knife.
476’s nostrils quivered with excitement and bloodlust.
§
Giant John forced himself to slice an apple with neat methodical cuts, lifting the tiny blade between each cut to check the reflection of the branch above.
The tracker was there, waiting. He popped a slice of apple in his mouth, quickly chewing it. Shards, it would be a terrible waste to choke on a piece of apple in a fight. Another slice. The beast was crouching, ready to pounce. Giant John whistled a few more bars, then coughed loudly to let Marlies know there was danger.
Now! As the tracker leaped, Giant John turned, whipping his sword from his belt, raising it to impale the tracker on his blade.
Seeing his sudden move, the tracker twisted in midair. The blade barely sliced its arm. With a crash that shook the wagon, the tharuk landed on its feet, claws out.
An agile sod, this one.
Giant John had to keep the beast away from Marlies. Oh shards, this was the tracker with the broken tusk and black eyes. It could mind-bend. He mustn’t think about Marlies. Jumping from the wagon, he sprinted across the clearing.
Stomping and rasping followed him.
Close—too close, he was breathing in the creature’s rotty breath.
Pain sliced across Giant John’s back.
He spun, droplets of his own blood flying, cherry-red in the sun. Giant John thrust his sword at the tracker, but it lunged low, grabbing his legs, slamming him to the ground. His sword went flying. Rolling, he leaped to his feet as the brute pounced right where he’d just been.
Giant John whipped a dagger from his sleeve. The tharuk sprang into the air, and snatched Giant John’s other arm, wrenching it as it flew past him, spinning him off balance. Gods, this thing was fast, and cunning.
Giant John surged forward, aiming his dagger at the tharuk’s neck.
The beast parried the blade with a flick of its arm and swiped at John’s torso, raking its claws across his gut.
Giant John dropped his dagger and crumpled to his knees, clutching his stomach. The beast sprang, flinging him backward and pinned his arms with its claws.
Giant John tried to heave his legs up to dislodge the beast, but his middle burnt with fire, moisture leaking over his hips—blood, guts? He couldn’t tell. Either way, his belly muscles were useless.
The tracker’s black beady eyes focused on him. “Where is the female?” it snarled.
Dizziness swept over Giant John. He shook his head, trying to clear it. The irrational urge to tell this monster about Marlies filled his head. He fought, keeping an image of a sunflower in his mind, refusing to let the beast win. His forehead dripped sweat. Yellow petals, thick stem.
“Play with me, would you? Picking flowers?” The tracker drove a knee into his rib.
Giant John felt it pop. Smash. Another rib.
“Where is she?” The tracker’s spittle flew into his face, making him want to gag. But he couldn’t—oh gods, the pain was too much. And that awful dizziness. Focus on the sunflower—bright green leaves, yellow, dark center.
The tracker released its grip on his arms for a moment. Giant John snatched the tracker’s fur, but it was too late, the beast’s fingers closed around his neck. It squeezed. Giant John gurgled. Croaked. Black spots danced before his eyes.
“You got no chance,” gloated the tracker. “I’m stronger. Smarter.” It laughed. “Zens is making new creatures. To kill every male, female and small human. And all your stinking dragons. Gone. Just you wait.”
Giant John tried to fight but could only gurgle. Darkness crept across the edge of his vision. The world spun.
With a fleshy thunk, a sword protruded from the tharuk’s neck. Dark blood gushed over Giant John’s head. Marlies’ face appeared.
Giant John fainted.
§
Marlies kicked the tracker off Giant John and crouched by her old friend. “John! Don’t pass out on me now. Come on!”
His eyelids fluttered.
Not waiting for him to rouse, she tugged up his blood-soaked jerkin. A gut wound, plenty of blood but no intestines, thank goodness. She whipped her piaua out of her healer’s pouch and dripped juice along one end of the wound site, holding the edges together so his flesh could knit over. Giant John moaned at the burn, but didn’t wake. She repeated the process until the wound was closed.
Lifting his jerkin, she saw mottled bruises spreading on one side of his chest. His throat was also bruised. Marlies dashed back to the wagon and grabbed her waterskin. As an afterthought, she pulled the trapdoor shut in the bottom of the secret compartment, and bolted it, then tugged the horses toward Giant John.
Sloshing water over Giant John’s face, she woke him.
His eyes darted wildly, then his face brightened. “Marlies!” He spotted the dead tracker. “Thank the Egg! You saved me!” He tried to sit up, but winced.
“Ribs?”
Giant John nodded sheepishly. “Afraid so.”
“Here, open your mouth.” Marlies let two or three drips of piaua juice fall on John’s tongue, then rubbed a little over the bruises on his throat and torso. “That should make it easier to move.”
Soon, he could sit up unaided. He got to his feet and flexed his torso. “Piaua is amazing. Thankfully, you were here.”
“Without me, you wouldn’t be in this mess.” She nudged the dead tharuk with her boot. A severed tharuk hand fell out of its pocket. “Ew, gross. We’d better get going in case its friends turn up.”
“Ah, Marlies. We can’t leave the body or the hand here. They’ll be onto us in no time.”
“Good, then we’ll take them with us.”
Giant John stuffed the hand back in the dead beasts’ pocket and lifted its body. But when he flipped the side of the wagon bed down and stuffed the beast into the secret compartment, then gestured to Marlies to get in, she recoiled. “No, John, even I have limits.”
“Well,” he said, “this isn’t one of them. I can’t take either of you in the top of the wagon. If we’re stopped, I’m a dead man.”
She hesitated.
“Marlies, I have a wife, now. A wee littling.”
“Fair enough.” She sighed.
He stuffed some sacks next to the dead brute and wiped its blood stains off the floor.
Marlies climbed in, screwing up her nose. “Never thought I’d cuddle up to a dead tharuk,” she muttered as he flipped the side up and locked her in. Brilliant, the tharuk’s body was now blocking the trapdoor—her only exit if Giant John was attacked.
§
A while later, Giant John stopped the horses and let Marlies out of the wagon. They half-dragged and half-lifted the tharuk to the top of the ravine. Below, the Tooka river churned in a heaving white mass.
“On my count,” said Giant John, adjusting his grip and using his thighs to lift the beast’s torso while Marlies held the legs. They threw the beast into the river.
Its body bounced on a rock, then bobbed once or twice before it was swept down the gorge in a torrent of white wash.
Giant John turned to Marlies. Sh
e was heading into the jaws of the viper in Death Valley. He wouldn’t wish that trip on anybody. “There’s a steep chimney at the back of this cave leading to a goat track up the mountainside. The tharuks use a trail about twenty furlongs south of here. Just before Devil’s Gate—”
“That’s the pass into Death Valley, right?”
He nodded. “Before then, the tharuk track and your trail converge. You’ll be sharing the way with tharuks, but the mountain’s so steep, there’s no other way up. I’d save your freshweed for then.” He shrugged. There was so much more to say, so many memories they shared.
Marlies embraced him. “Thank you, John, for risking your life for me. Give my thanks to your wife. I’d like to meet her one day.”
Chuckling, Giant John replied, “And I’d like to see your children.”
Marlies smiled. “You may see one of them soon. My daughter, Ezaara, is now Queen’s Rider.”
“Queen’s Rider?” Giant John gaped.
Marlies laughed. “Watch out, John, you might swallow a passing tharuk!”
He hugged her again. “Speed on wings of fire.”
She snorted. “That would be nice, but Liesar isn’t here, so I’ll just have to use my feet.” Marlies waved and entered the cave.
Giant John watched until she was out of sight, then unharnessed the horses, and took their saddlebags out of the secret compartment. He pushed the wagon to the edge of the ravine, and gave it a shove. It dropped, splintering into pieces on the rocks. The current tugged, sweeping some parts away and leaving others stranded.
The tracker’s words echoed in his head, chilling him. “Zens is making new creatures. To kill every male, female and small human. And all your stinking dragons. Gone. Just you wait.” Giant John shivered. New monsters? Someone needed to find out. Shards, he should’ve told Marlies. Was it too much to hope she’d stumble upon the secrets Zens was hiding?
After fastening the saddlebags on the horses, Giant John roped one behind the other and swung into the saddle. He took one last glance at the mountainside as the last rays of sunset melted into dark shadows, and muttered, “By the dragon’s tail, I hope she makes it out again.”
Tharuk Attack
There it was again—the slow creak of the prison door opening. Then soft footfalls.
Creeping to his feet, Hans felt in the dark for the jagged piece of wood he’d prized from his bed yesterday. As his hands closed around the makeshift dagger, a splinter drove into his palm. He clamped his teeth together to stop himself from grunting and stood with his back against the side wall of his cell.
At the other end of the prison, a strangled screech was cut short, followed by a muffled thump.
That was the guard out of the way.
Hans braced himself as the stench of tharuk wafted down the corridor, preceding a lumbering beast. It always made his stomach curl and brought back terrible memories. The sharp iron of their victim’s blood was in his nose again, as he waited, silent, in the dark.
The gorge rose in his throat as the tharuk—a shadow in the darkness—stopped at the cell opposite.
Of course. They were coming to break Bill out. To use him as a pawn, once again. The crow had obviously passed its message on, somehow.
The tang of the guard’s blood rose through the tharuk’s stench. The monster must be covered in it.
With a jangle and a clank, Bill’s cell door was open. A thud. A muffled groan from Bill, then his simpering.
“Oh, thank you, Master. I’m so grateful you came for me. Lovely to see you, absolutely lovely.”
“Drink this,” the beast growled.
Hans heard Bill chugging back fluid, then stumbling to his feet. Swayweed tea, no doubt.
“Ow, not quite so tight, Master,” Bill said. “I’m coming with you, right now.”
“Keep your voice down,” the tharuk growled as it swept Bill down the corridor and out of jail.
For long moments, Hans waited, pressed against the wall. He cocked his head. There were no cries of alarm outside, no sounds of fighting. So, the beast had come to grab Bill ahead of the main attack.
Now, to get out of here, get weapons and defend the township. Hans reached his arm through the bars, stretching the wooden dagger toward Bill’s cell in the dark. He waved the wood back and forth, until it thunked against the edge of the cell door, but it was too short to reach the keys. Hans turned back to the bed. There was plenty more wood where that came from.
Wait.
From outside the prison came stealthy whispers and the chink of armor. The reek of tharuk drifted through the window. There were no warning cries. Dread coiled through Hans’ stomach. Tharuks were infiltrating the village, so Ernst’s perimeter guards must be dead. If only Klaus had listened.
He needed more wood. Hans threw the mattress off his bed. The noise he was about to make could bring tharuks running, but if he didn’t get out, he’d be trapped. Hopefully the racket would alert the settlers. Hans kicked the bed in the weak spot where he’d torn off his dagger. Just a thunk in the dark. He booted it again and again. The planks groaned but held solid.
“What’s that?” a guttural growl rumbled outside Bill’s window.
“Probably 731 smashing up the jail.”
“But we weren’t to start until—”
A scream cut through the air. Everything outside went mad: roaring, yelling, torches flaring through the barred window. Agonized screeches as tusks and claws met flesh.
It made no difference how much noise he made now. Hans jumped high, his boots smashing down on the bed. The wood groaned. He jumped again, thrusting his full bodyweight downward. With a jarring crash, the bed splintered. Pain sparking through his calf, he snatched up a length of wood and poked it through the bars. Erratic torches cast light through the windows, allowing him to skewer the enormous loop of keys onto the end of his stick. Hans jiggled them, trying to get Bill’s key loose from the lock.
Through their cell bars, inmates cried out, then grew silent as they watched his struggle.
Hans jiggled the key again. The end of his stick broke off, falling to the ground, and the keys were still stuck in Bill’s shrotty lock.
A deep snarl made Hans’ neck hairs stand on end. A torch flared to life.
“Speed it, mate,” someone hissed. “A beast is coming.” The inmates disappeared from their barred doors, taking refuge at the back of their cells.
Hans thrust the stick through the key ring again, then yanked, hard. The key flew from the lock and the ring slid along the stick.
The snarls grew closer.
He didn’t dare look. Hand over hand, he pulled the stick back through the bars of the cell. Another moment and the jailer’s keys would be within reach. The light grew brighter. Hans clasped the jailer’s keyring and glanced up.
The tharuk was stopping at each cell and lifting its torch high, sniffing the prisoners’ scents.
A tracker. Hunting someone. Who in Lush Valley would be valuable enough to track?
A chill swept through him. A former dragon master and his family.
He had to get free before the beast found him. The scrape of the key as he slid it into the lock jarred his ears.
The tharuk was only a few cells down.
He turned the key, then stuffed them in his pocket. Let the monster think the door was locked. He lifted the stick, hiding it against his leg. A weapon, but a poor one. Before Hans could retreat to the back of the cell, the tharuk lifted its snout, nostrils twitching, and sniffed the air. The beast spun, long strings of dark drool dribbling off its saliva-coated tusks.
It stared right at him, a puckered scar under one of its red eyes. The beast’s nostrils flared as it stopped at Hans’ cell. It flexed its claws. “What’s here, then? A former dragon rider, I believe?”
Bill had known and sold him out.
“You know what we do to dragon riders, don’t you?” The beast’s top lip curled.
Hans had seen tortured riders, hands missing, with strips torn off their
backs and feet, left to rot in Death Valley. No way, not him. He lunged, shoving with all his weight on the cell door. It swung open, knocking the tharuk backward into Bill’s cell door. The torch rolled along the corridor.
Hans ducked around his door. The tracker leaped to its feet, blocking Hans’ escape. Hefting his stick with two hands, he drove it upward under the tharuk’s chin. Blood rained over Hans. Impaled, the beast swiped at Hans, but the stick was too long, keeping its claws out of reach.
He pushed harder. The beast clutched at the wood, its eyes rolling back in its head. Black blood pumped from its throat. Soon the monster’s head lolled to the side and its body went limp.
Hans let go, kicking the beast aside as it hit the floor.
“What was that?” a prisoner asked, face pressed against his bars.
“That was how you kill a tharuk. Aim for their throats or the weak spot under their chins.” Breathing hard, Hans dragged the keys from his pocket. “Who wants to stay here and be slaughtered?” Silence. “Then will you help me kill these over-sized rats?”
Ragged cheers went up among the prisoners.
Hans unlocked the neighboring cell. “Release the others, grab some weapons, and meet me in the square.” Most of them would flee, but some might help. Any fighters were a bonus.
Hans grabbed the torch and ran along the corridor, yelling his instructions to all the prisoners, then raced outside.
It was mayhem. People were fleeing. Beasts smashed buildings and homes. The few villagers fighting tharuks were armed with only pitchforks or spades, taking wild swings at the monsters. A pot flew out a window, hitting a tharuk on the head. Shrieks of pain filled the night.
A burly figure thundered toward him, lit up from behind by a home engulfed in flames. “Hans!” It was Klaus, his face pale and streaked with black tharuk blood. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hans. I should’ve listened. Here, your weapons.” He threw Hans his scabbard and daggers.
Hans caught them, then whirled, drawing his sword to fight off a wiry tharuk. At his side, Klaus drove back a bigger beast with a bald spot above its eye. Hans feinted high. The tharuk looked up, and he drove his sword into its throat. No sooner had the beast hit the ground, three more replaced it.
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 42
