“I’d forgotten all about Ana’s gift. What’s in it?” Tomaaz asked.
Hans extracted some folded brown paper, opening it to reveal dried auburn berries.
“Clear-mind berries,” Tomaaz blurted.
“If we eat them, the numlock won’t affect us.”
“But surely Zens will be able to tell.”
“Yes, because our eyes won’t have the gray sheen that Lovina’s did, but …” Hans fished in the pouch again and pulled out a vial of gray powder. “Dragon’s scale. A pinch of this should make your eyes and fingernails gray, then all we’ll have to do is act slow and witless.”
Tomaaz snorted. “About now, Lofty would be laughing, telling me I’m witless enough already.”
Hans cricked his neck and forced himself to chuckle. “Check your fingernails regularly. Take more dragon’s scale as soon as they start pinking. Don’t forget. Your life depends upon it.”
And Marlies’ life.
Face earnest again, Tomaaz nodded.
“The biggest challenge will be to find Ma and get her out.” Hans said, not mentioning the hundreds of tharuks at Zens’ command. “We’ll slip into the valley together, if we can, then join work teams and find out where your mother is. I don’t like to say this, Son, but it might be best to split up.” Pa passed him a clear oval stone with pointed ends.
“A calling stone …” Tomaaz eyes widened. “They’re real?”
“They sure are. If we’re separated, we’ll talk each day at sunset. Just hold the stone in your palm, rub the surface and think of me. We’ll be able to mind-meld across distances.”
Tomaaz swallowed. “And if I’m caught?”
Hans gave him a grim smile. “Then I’ll have to save you.”
A Rude Awakening
Marlies heard muffled scrapes at the cavern mouth. Hans was here. She’d been dreaming of him and Handel streaking through the sky to save her. It must’ve been a rare prophecy, a vision.
“Hans?” she croaked, throat dry.
Boots struck the stone. She pushed herself to sit. A dark figure blocked the light at the cave.
“Hans, I—”
“Found you,” a voice growled.
Marlies gasped. It wasn’t Hans but a tharuk towering over her. She grasped her knife, but a furry hand closed over hers and squeezed until she dropped it.
The beast sniffed at her. “We’ve found the female Zens wanted,” it called.
A smaller tharuk entered the cave. “Good. That makes up for losing the big male.”
Could they mean Giant John?
“Pack this up,” the large tharuk ordered. “Zens wants this one with belongings.”
The wiry tharuk limped over to Marlies, and shoved all of her gear and weapons into her rucksack, while the big tharuk yanked her to her feet.
Although her arm was still in agony, it was better than before. Still, Marlies cried out. If she showed she was injured and weak, they’d think she wasn’t a threat.
Soon she was outside, draped over the big beast’s shoulder, her face pressed into its stinking fur. No wonder they’d found her. The snow was churned and splattered in blood all the way to her cave. It was amazing she hadn’t been found earlier.
Marlies bobbed up and down as the beast strode along. At least she didn’t have to walk to Death Valley herself now. Eventually, the motion of the tharuk’s gait sent her back to sleep.
§
At dusk, Marlies’ captors dumped her on the ground among stumpy bushes. Thank the Egg, they were below the snow line again. While the tharuks collected wood for a fire, she stretched and tested her injured arm. Better, but not good enough to fight with yet. She’d have to bide her time.
The small beast with a jagged scar across its snout approached, dumping her rucksack near her. “Eat.” It nocked an arrow, training it on her. “Now.”
Marlies drank from her waterskin, and fished out a piece of dried beef, one of Giant John’s apples, now bruised, and some flatbread.
Scar Snout, the small one, tied her ankles and wrists tightly, and darted off into the bushes, returning with two squealing rats. It stomped on their heads, its heavy boots making a mess of the squirming creatures. It dashed off for more, amassing a pile of dead rats.
Soon the beasts were holding rats impaled on sticks over the fire. Sparks spat high into the dark and the rats’ body juices sizzled over the flames.
Despite her revulsion, the aroma of char-roasted rat made Marlies’ stomach rumble.
“Hold this,” the large one handed his stick to Scar Snout, then turned and picked up a dead rat, biting into it and sucking the entrails out with a slurp. Blood dribbled over its snout and paws.
Marlies turned away, nauseous.
“Hey,” yelled Scar Snout. “Don’t eat them all. I want some, too.”
“I’m bigger.” After a thump from the big tharuk, Scar Snout was quiet.
Once the tharuks had finished slurping and crunching, she turned back to the fire in time to catch the end of a rat’s tail disappearing into Scar Snout’s mouth. “We’re late. Zens will be angry,” Scar Snout said, poking the embers with a stick.
“Weather was bad. And your fault. You searched by that river.”
“I scented the large oaf. The one who gave us food. I went to look.”
Marlies stiffened. Scar Snout had followed Giant John!
“Zens won’t care. You didn’t find anything.”
“Actually,” said Scar Snout slyly, “I found oaf’s wagon. In the river. His horse’s tracks went east.”
“You didn’t tell me.” The huge brute clobbered Scar Snout, sending it sprawling. “I’m boss. You tell me everything. Hear?” It kicked Scar Snout along the ground. “The oaf would be valuable.”
Marlies pretended to be asleep, watching through slitted eyes.
“We have the other one,” whined Scar Snout, groveling.
The large tharuk grunted. “Zens will be pleased! I get a reward.” A nasty rumble echoed from its throat, and it wandered over, nudging her with its toe. “This flesh must work hard. Or rot on the heap.” The tharuks guffawed.
§
About mid-morning, the tharuks dumped Marlies on a foothill behind some scraggly bushes. The beasts crawled forward on their bellies to observe the valley below.
Marlies squinted through the sparse brush, the last sign of vegetation. Stretching as far as she could see were steep brown hills. An arid valley snaked between the hills toward the north, and haze clung to the hillsides. This was the destination Zaarusha had shown her—Death Valley.
Why were her captors being so stealthy? They were late back. Surely, these brutes would be in a hurry? Apparently not.
The large tharuk shoved a waterskin and a piece of bread into Marlies’ hands and motioned for her to be quiet. She forced herself to chew slowly, straining to swallow each mouthful. Feeling this sick, how could she save Zaarusha’s son, even if she did find him? And what of her family? Would she see them again?
Oh, shards, she’d forgotten Hans’ calling stone in her rucksack. As soon as she was alone, she’d use it.
The tharuks stiffened and glanced at each other.
Then she heard it: a tharuk patrol was passing below—that’s why her captors were hiding. The warmongering beasts would probably kill them and take her as their own prisoner. A shiver ran through her. Here, life had no value.
Once the patrol had passed, the tharuks backtracked to carry her down a steep ravine, out of sight of the main valley. The arid dust coated her nostrils and parched her throat.
She was alive. But for how long?
§
By afternoon, they’d reached Death Valley. Instead of taking her to Zens, the tharuks kept her out of sight and sneaked her up a side arm of the valley, riddled with caves. The tharuks took her into a cave and threw her on the stone floor. Landing on her injured arm, Marlies groaned.
“Give the female food,” the large tharuk barked at Scar Snout.
Scar Snout passed h
er flatbread and the waterskin. “Eat, drink.”
Thankfully, they’d brought her rucksack. She’d use Hans’ calling stone as soon as they were gone.
The large tharuk grunted. “She won’t go anywhere. She’s too weak.”
They left her ankles and hands bound and retreated.
Marlies lay down where they’d dropped her, biding her time. She was in no shape to walk far.
Maybe she could heal herself with the supplies in her pouch and talk to Hans.
Just as she was about to sit up, there was scuffling outside the cave. Marlies pretended to be asleep, her eyes thin slits.
Scar Snout slunk inside, toward her rucksack. The brute ferreted among her things, then, glancing at her, it hefted her bag over its shoulder and crept out.
No! Marlies wanted to scream. Clumsily, she rose to her feet and shuffled forward, the ropes biting her ankles. At the cave mouth, she peered around the rock and saw Scar Snout hiding her rucksack in a crack in the hillside. Dizzy and faint, Marlies slumped to the ground.
§
Behind a latrine, 316 turned the pretty stone over in its hands. Although the prisoner’s rucksack now belonged to Zens, surely he wouldn’t miss one little trinket? Checking that 555 wasn’t around the corner, 316 absently rubbed the scar on its snout. It didn’t need more scars from 555.
It rubbed the lovely stone. Swirling patterns formed on the surface. Fascinated, 316 polished it. The pattern eddied, forming a picture: a dragon of many colors.
The stone got hot. 316 bounced it from hand to hand, but its fur got singed. A roar pounded inside its head. Flame shot from the dragon’s mouth into 316’s face and the stone disintegrated, leaving its hands burned and charred.
The fur on its chin was smoldering. 316 batted at it, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable. Someone was coming, so 316 ducked into the latrine.
When 316 came out, 555 was waiting. “There you are,” its boss-tracker said. “I’ve been searching. You found oaf’s cart. Zens is pleased. He reward you. Come.”
316 nodded, his chin in his hand to conceal his burnt fur.
“Zens wants the prisoner’s rucksack.” 555 glared at 316.
Zens probably hadn’t even asked for the rucksack. It was just 555 trying to get the treasure. 316 replied, “I don’t know where the prisoner’s bag is. Did you take it to Zens?”
555 smiled, tusks gleaming. “Come and get your reward.”
Something in 555’s smile made 316 shudder.
Dragons’ Hold
Liesar flipped her wings, craning her neck backward to get a glimpse of the girl in the saddlebag. Pale face, eyes closed, breathing ragged. She couldn’t see much else. The girl was probably unconscious. She’d tried rousing her by roaring, but Lovina hadn’t responded. If Handel was flying with her, she could have asked him to fly close and monitor her health. But he wasn’t. He was on his way to Death Valley with Tomaaz and Hans.
A cold ache filled Liesar’s belly at the thought of Marlies dying. No, she couldn’t die, not after all the years she’d waited to see her rider again. Not after her ferrying Marlies and Hans away to Lush Valley after the royal dragonet had died, so they could hide until Zaarusha’s wrath grew cold and reason set in. Zaarusha had finally come around, thank the dragon gods, after a few miserable years.
Liesar battled a fierce headwind from Dragons’ Hold, then flew higher, seeking a gentler current. Tomaaz liked Lovina. His affection ran deep. Lovina was precious cargo. Frail. Hopefully, not dying.
Liesar craned her neck again. She wasn’t so sure.
Hours later, she alighted on a ledge at Dragons’ Hold.
§
Standing in a corner of an empty training cavern, Adelina stared at Kierion. “Are you sure this’ll work?”
“How many pranks have I pulled off since you’ve known me?” he asked.
True, he was good; that’s why she’d sought him out. “We can’t risk this going wrong. A girl’s life is at stake.”
Kierion’s usually-merry eyes were somber. “That’s why it has to look real. If I take my rumble weed, I’ll be barfing so much that Fleur won’t notice what you’re up to.”
“You mean you’d willingly vomit to help?” Not what she’d had in mind when she’d asked him.
Kierion’s mouth set in a grim line. “I’m not letting Zens kill our people, and your brother’s right: we can’t trust Fleur.”
Adelina swallowed. Fleur’s evil lies had led to the council banishing her brother Roberto to the Wastelands.
Kierion squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, Ezaara and Erob will find Roberto.” His cheeks pinked and he dropped her fingers. “Let’s go. Gret will be wondering what’s taking you so long.”
Adelina retrieved some bread from the kitchens, then waited outside the boy’s quarters while Kierion nipped in to retrieve his rumble weed.
“I’ve taken it,” he said. “As soon as I eat, I’ll be hurling.”
She handed him the bread. “We’d better get to the infirmary quickly then.”
He chewed it as they walked. By the time they got to the infirmary door, Kierion was clutching his stomach. Shards, his rumble weed was good. Adelina pushed the door open and brought him in. He doubled over, right in the doorway, groaning.
“Master Fleur,” she called, “Kierion’s sick.”
“Basin,” grunted Kierion.
“Here,” called Fleur, snatching up a basin and running toward him. Once he had the basin in hand, Fleur led Kierion over to a chair. “Come and sit over here.”
The moment he sat, Kierion deposited the contents of his stomach into the basin.
There were only two other patients in the infirmary, neither paying attention to Adelina, so she drifted to the back of the room, ducking behind a curtain into Fleur’s secret alcove. She bent, searching through shelves full of pots of Fleur’s stinking salve. Somewhere here, she and Ezaara had seen some vials nestled in sheep wool, in a little box. Ah, there was the box, at the back. She lifted Fleur’s pots, careful not to let them clink against one another, and hid the slim box under her jerkin. She had to hurry. Lovina could be getting worse by the heartbeat.
“Hold on, I’ll get you some soothing tea.”
That was Fleur’s voice, coming toward her!
“Master Fleur,” Kierion called. “You should really look at this rash, in case it’s not a simple belly gripe.”
“Good idea,” Fleur replied, her voice moving away. “How long have you had the rash?”
“Oh, let me think …”
Adelina peeked out from the curtain. Fleur’s back was to her again, watching Kierion undo his jerkin so she could look at his torso. When Kierion started vomiting again, Adelina sneaked out of the infirmary. Now, to get the remedy to Lovina.
§
Lovina cracked her eyes open.
A young girl’s face appeared above her, a girl with dark hair and black eyes—Naobian, from the look of her. Her forehead was lined with worry, but she had an overly-bright smile. “You’re awake. Welcome to Dragons’ Hold. I’m Adelina.”
This was better than the boot in the ribs she usually got from Bill.
“How are you feeling?”
“Uh …” How was she feeling? She’d been drowsy for days. In the darkest moments, when her hands were cramped into painful claws, she’d despaired of ever drawing again. But now?
Lovina flexed the fingers on her good hand, the ones Bill hadn’t broken. “They work,” she murmured.
“Yes, they do,” said Adelina. “What about the rest?”
“I can move my toes, too.” Lovina straightened her legs and the arm that wasn’t broken. There were no spasms. “Everything’s a bit sore, but at least they’re not cramping.”
“That’s good news,” Adelina replied. “Liesar said you’re from Lush Valley.”
“My old master, Bill, was a traveling merchant, but yes, our last stop was Lush Valley.”
Adelina’s gaze was sharp. “Master?”
Lovina bit her
lip, twisting the sheet in her fingers. “I—I was his slave.”
Instead of scorning her, Adelina hugged her. “My brother was once a slave, too,” she whispered. “We’ll take care of you here. Do you know Ezaara, the Queen’s Rider? She’s from Lush Valley.”
She was Tomaaz’s sister, the pretty one, who could use a sword. Lovina nodded. “A little.” Did she actually know anyone apart from Tomaaz? She’d been hidden behind a fog of numlock for too long.
Adelina raised her hand.
Lovina flinched.
“I’m sorry,” said Adelina, “I was just going to tuck your quilt in.”
“Sorry,” Lovina mumbled. Her reactions to Bill were embedded, whether she was numlocked or not. She heard his voice all over again: “You’re useless. A good-for-nothing bag of skin and bones. The dung that a horse drops is worth more than you.”
Adelina placed a palm on Lovina’s good arm. “Like I said, we’re here to help you. Rest now, while I get you some broth.”
Lovina nodded, drifting back to sleep.
Nightmares plagued her. Death Valley again, except this time it wasn’t her but Tomaaz being whipped, his back laid raw under the lash.
A Risky Approach
After three nights in a cave, Pa had pronounced Handel fit for flight. Now, snowy peaks towered above Tomaaz, mist clinging to their tips. They were at the edge of Spanglewood Forest. Pa had said these woods were the seat of ancient wizard magic, whatever that was. It seemed Lush Valley had hidden more than dragons from its inhabitants. Handel shot down, making Tomaaz’s stomach lurch. He clamped his eyes shut.
“Last stop before the Terramites,” Pa’s voice rumbled through his back.
Tomaaz cracked his eyes open. The ground was still rushing up to hit him, so he squeezed them shut again, waiting for the inevitable thud that meant his torture was over.
He was out of the saddle in moments. It was good to get down and stretch his legs again. He shivered. Zens was on the other side of that mountain range.
Pa passed him some dark thin leaves. “Freshweed—it’ll mask our scent while we’re sneaking into Death Valley. We won’t need it once we’re among the slaves.”
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