She leaned into his chest, enveloped in his arms, and cried.
He brushed his lips against her hair, murmuring, “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”
She wasn’t just safe, she was happy. And that made her cry even more.
Until his stomach rumbled.
She laughed and tugged him over to the table. Tomaaz stood there, staring at the food, nostrils flaring.
“I know.” She smiled. “There’s nothing like the smell of real food after Death Valley, is there?”
“So good,” he moaned, sinking into the chair opposite her.
She pushed a bowl of soup toward him. “I don’t know if it’s still warm.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, picking up a spoonful of soup and tasting it. “Oh,” he groaned, “this is delicious.”
“I would’ve said that about dishwater after Death Valley.” Even Bill’s food had been a jump up from Death Valley. Lovina passed him the bread rolls.
His hand closed over hers. “This is paradise, being here with you.” His green eyes searched hers.
She ducked her head. “I’m just not used to—”
He nodded, waiting. “Not used to someone loving you?” he asked, finally, stroking her hand with his thumb.
She nodded. Yes, that was definitely going to take some getting used to.
§
The ceiling swam in and out of focus. Marlies rubbed her eyes. Her arms still ached, despite the limplock remedy. She’d never imagined feeling so tired. Was this what the wasting sickness was like? Those patients had complained of bone-weary exhaustion.
“Zaarusha would like to see you,” Liesar melded.
It had been wonderful to see her dragon again, her silver scales gleaming as they’d first greeted one another. Now it was as if they’d never been apart.
“I’ll bring her,” Hans replied, wrapping a warm robe around her and lending her an arm to help her out of bed.
Marlies smiled. He was enjoying mind-melding with Liesar and Handel again. Save some masters on the council, few here would remember that the four of them could meld. She leaned on Hans as they made their way to the ledge outside the infirmary.
Zaarusha furled her wings and strode toward her. Marlies held up her hand and the queen lowered her head so they could touch. “Ah, Marlies. I’m so happy you’re back with us.”
“It’s good to be back,” Marlies replied. Zaarusha’s scales were warm under her hand. Or was she just cold?
“Thank you for returning my son. This journey has taken a toll on you. You’ve sacrificed much. I’m sorry you’ve suffered.” The queen sent a gentle wave of peace through her.
“But now I can stand tall before my people and the council once again,” Marlies said.
“You can indeed.”
Marlies bowed her head to hide her tears.
Giant John
Giant John lay still in the underbrush, his blood pulsing at his temples. Hopefully, he’d crawled far enough into the thicket not to be seen.
“Big one in here,” a guttural voice yelled. “Search.”
There was a crash to his right, then another. He forced himself not to move. Nearby, a branch hit a bush, trapped in its springy foliage. Then a log landed on another bush, crushing it. These hardy bushes could only withstand so much.
If he crept forward, the tharuks would see the bushes move. If he broke out, they’d surround him. For now, it’d be best to sit tight and hope they didn’t hit him. There were a few more crashes, then nothing. Giant John strained to listen, but everything had gone quiet. Too quiet. No bird calls. No rustling of animals. Everyone was hiding from those stinking predators. He caught a waft of tharuk stench, carried on the breeze. Giant John waited, his pulse hammering.
Behind him something crackled. The tang of smoke caught in his nose. They were burning him out!
Elbows striking sharp stones, he dragged himself along on his belly. With a whoosh, the bushes behind him caught alight, smoke billowing overhead. Good, that might disguise his movements. With stinging eyes, Giant John raised himself on his hands and knees and crawled faster. The fire was building, a wave of heat at his back. Soon it would engulf the whole thicket.
His knees ached and his palms were scratched and torn. Rasping, John pushed on. Not far to go now. Behind him the fire roared. Sweat dripped off his forehead, stinging his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, but the smoke was too thick. Oh gods, he was going to cough. Or burn. Too late for stealth now. Under the cover of heavy smoke, Giant John rose to his feet and bashed his way through the chest-high undergrowth.
Over the roaring of the fire, tharuks yelled.
They’d spotted him, but they wouldn’t take him alive. Giant John broke from the bush, his feet pummeling the stony clearing. Yells rang out behind him. Through tearing eyes, he saw a tharuk charging at him. Giant John swerved, the beast’s claws raking his side. Despite the pain, he raced on, the tharuk snarling at his back. He took a giant’s leap onto an enormous boulder at the edge of a chasm.
Far below, a river raged. He risked a backward glance at the tharuks swarming after him, fire crackling at their heels.
Giant John sprang high into the air and dived toward the black churning water. The rocky walls of the chasm blurred as he sped downward. Then he hit the water, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. His body went numb with cold, and he was swept under.
Blackness surrounded him. His lungs burning, Giant John kicked upward, breaking the surface for a gasp of air, only to be sucked under again, dragged by the swift current toward Tooka Falls.
Giant John battled the current. Grabbing hold of a log, he clung on, panting. The roar of the falls filled his ears. If he could get on top of the log, it could help him ride the falls, otherwise he’d be shredded on the sharp rocks at the falls’ entrance. He grasped at a branch protruding from the top of the log, and tried to pull himself up, but the log kept spinning, dumping him underwater. He gave up, wedging himself between the log and one of its branches.
Above the falls, tharuks were running along the cliff top. Giant John ducked. An arrow thunked into the log where his chin had just been. He grabbed a quick breath before the current swept him past the rocks, over the edge of the falls. Amid a torrent of water, he lost hold of the log and plummeted toward the churning white mass below.
Pounded by water, he hit the surface, smacking his ribs on the log, the force of the falls driving him underwater into darkness. His body was buffeted, swept along in the murk. Giant John couldn’t tell up from down. He’d heard terrible tales of people being swept below Tooka Falls, then popping out again, downriver. Those who fought usually drowned.
Holding air in his screaming lungs, he forced his body to go limp. Eventually, he’d find his way to the surface—unless he got snagged on tree roots.
There was a dark shape on the water. The log. He’d ride it downstream. Suddenly, the surface was pebbled with splashes, tharuk arrow shafts cutting through the water. With burning lungs, Giant John popped up for a breath and dived before the next spray of arrows.
He’d been teased for his large stature as a littling—a largeling, they’d called him—but his strong limbs and lungs made him a powerful swimmer. The river swept him downstream.
It took forever to get to Horseshoe Bend.
It was nearly dusk when he arrived.
Giant John was shivering as he clambered from the water, stepping on tendrils of willow leaves to avoid leaving boot prints in the mud. Growls and cries rang out from the opposite bank. Tharuks were attacking villagers at Spanglewood Settlement, but he couldn’t stop to help. He had an important message to get to Dragons’ Hold. The fate of the whole realm lay in that message. He’d let Giddi know about Spanglewood, so he could send aid.
His widowed mother was at Horseshoe Bend village, only moments away, but Giant John couldn’t stop for anyone. He had to get his message through. He vaulted the fence and ran through the trees. Shards, his sodden clothing and waterlogged boots wei
ghed more than an ox, making it hard going, but he smiled, feeling the magic of the Great Spanglewood Forest around him.
By the time he reached Giddi’s cottage, his limbs were weary. He rapped on the door—three short raps and two thumps. Giddi’s dog, Mischief, barked, then whined.
Giddi opened the door a crack. Light spilled into the dark woods. “John! You’re as wet as a drowned rat! Come in.”
Giddi was the only one who ever called him John; to everyone else, he was Giant. John stepped inside and Giddi embraced him, not bothered by his dampness.
“Tharuks are attacking Spanglewood Settlement. We have to send help.”
Giddi nodded. “Starrus and Benno and some warriors from Horseshoe Bend left a while ago, so they should be there by now. Come and sit by the fire.”
John sighed. Glancing at the cold hearth, he grinned. “It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”
“It has.” The mage flicked his fingers. Green wizard flame shot from his hands. The wood in the hearth caught, flames licking up the chimney. Giddi hung a pot over an iron bar and swung it over the fire. “We’ll get you out of those wet clothes and some stew into you, then you can tell me why you’ve come.” He opened a cupboard. “Here are your things.”
John took his fresh clothes. “Thanks for hanging onto them for so long.”
Giddi arched a sardonic eyebrow. “It’s not as if they’d fit anyone else.”
John chuckled and stripped off, drying himself on a rough wool blanket. As he dressed, the aroma of stew filled the cabin.
Giddi ladled him a bowlful and pulled some chairs over to the fire. “Now, tell me how you got those bruises all over your ribs.”
Between spoonfuls, John recounted his travels with Marlies, his journey back, and how that tracker had boasted of Zens’ new plans. When he recounted his dive into the Tooka chasm and swim down the falls, Giddi raised one of his famous bushy eyebrows, but said nothing until he’d finished.
“It sounds like you need rest and a good horse, so you can get to the blue guards and on to Dragons’ Hold.” He picked up John’s clothes, running his hands over them as he spoke. Steam wafted off the garments. “You can take Midnight all the way to Montanara. She’s fast and will find her way back here.” Giddi folded the clothes.
“Hang onto them. You never know when I’ll be in a tight spot again.”
Giddi laughed. “I’ve got you out of enough of those, but you’ve saved my hide, too. Remember that first battle against the tharuks at Horseshoe Bend? Zens had just come through the world gate and made those foul creatures. We had no idea what we were up against.”
“Or how long these battles would go on.”
John sipped his wizard tea. “Gah, what’s in this?”
Giddi chuckled. “I forgot you hate fennel and aniseed, sorry. It’ll help you heal from the inside.” Giddi hesitated.
“What is it?”
“If I’m not here next time you come, you know where your things are, right?”
“Why wouldn’t you be here?”
Giddi shrugged, his eyes flitting away. “We live in perilous times.”
There were only two reasons Giddi would leave his cottage in the woods—war or death. John cracked his knuckles. Unless Giddi was thinking of going through the world gate after Mazyka? Surely not. When he sealed the world gate all those years ago, Giddi had promised Anakisha never to open it again.
§
Giant John and Midnight left at dawn, traveling hard all day, through the night and throughout the next day. Many of the villages they passed in Spanglewood Forest had tharuk outposts nearby, their ominous presence cloaking the land with Commander Zens’ evil shadow. Whenever possible, Giant John skirted around villages, taking back trails through the forest. Midnight was fast, surefooted and didn’t spook easily, but a short way from Montanara, as they joined the main route, she started rolling her eyes and snorting.
A rotten stench drifted across the track, and a tharuk tracker stepped out of the trees, blocking the trail. “You,” it snarled, tusks glistening with dark saliva. Its nostrils dilated, scenting him. “We seek big man. Like you. Where are you going?”
“Home to Montanara.” Giant John pictured a cottage on the town outskirts, where his friend lived, keeping the image firmly in his mind, in case a mind-bender was near. Sure enough, a second tharuk stepped out of the trees, its black eyes narrowed on him. Then a third, neither tracker nor mind-bender, just a red-eyed grunt.
The mind-bender approached. Giant John’s thoughts swirled. He held onto the image of his ‘home’, fighting the rush of terror the beast sent at him.
His fears had been realized. Word had gotten to these troops that other tharuks had been hunting him. How? Apart from sleeping at Giddi’s, he’d traveled non-stop since Tooka Falls. It was almost as if they had messenger pigeons. There was movement among the trees as more tharuks sneaked through the woods to surround him.
Digging his heels into Midnight’s sides, Giant John yelled, “Go!”
She leaped ahead, charging at the tharuk tracker, striking him in the chest with her hoof. The tracker rolled aside, and the trail was open.
“Go, Midnight,” Giant John yelled, snapping her reins.
Midnight surged forward.
The tracker roared. His troops pounded the forest floor behind them. Giant John leaned low against Midnight’s neck, urging her on. She galloped along the trail through Spanglewood Forest. Low-hanging foliage whipped against Giant John’s face and slapped against Midnight’s flanks.
She powered onward, her thundering hooves drowning out the sound of pursuit. It would be dark soon, but Giant John suffered no illusions: trackers only needed scent, not light, to hunt down their quarry.
By the time they stopped in a meadow outside Montanara, the evening’s shadows had crept across the fields. Midnight’s sides were heaving and her head drooped. Giant John let the reins hang slack, but she had no energy to eat. He slipped off her back and patted her neck. Her flanks steamed in the cool night air. He tugged the reins, pulling her head down.
Giant John breathed a sigh of relief as she lipped the grass, ripping it out of the earth. He waited for her to eat, then walked her to the stables. On Montanara’s outskirts, he’d often stabled his own horses here and frequented the tavern next door. But tonight, he wouldn’t be stopping for an ale. The tavern was humming, and the fewer who saw him, the better.
Giant John opened the gate to the stables. Giddi had sent a messenger bird to warn the owner that they were coming, so the front stall was empty and supplied with clean hay. He unbuckled Midnight’s saddle and hung it up. Patting the mare fondly, he left, easing the gate shut behind him. He had a hard trek by foot over the snow-clad mountains before he reached the blue guards near Dragons’ Hold.
A burst of raucous laughter came from the tavern as a patron stepped outside to pee. Giant John melted into the darkness. He’d have to push himself hard. No doubt, that tracker was still on his trail.
§
Bill fastened his breeches, grinning at the large figure disappearing into the shadows. That very evening, he’d received a message from a crow about a large man wanted by tharuks. By mind-melding with the crow he’d seen the man they wanted—someone with the same gait and stature as the huge man sneaking off into the forest.
The crow’s troop would be here by morning. Zens would reward him well for this information. Bill licked his lips and went back inside for another ale.
The next morning, when the troop arrived, Bill stepped out of the tavern. “I have something for you,” he said, addressing a tracker. The sheer power in the brute’s gaze was enviable. Pride surged through Bill. To think he was on the winning side, the side that would rule the whole of Dragons’ Realm. He bowed. “A crow told me last night that you’re seeking a large man.”
The tracker grunted, narrowing its eyes.
“Bill, at your service.” Bill revealed the inside of his left elbow. “He went toward the river.”
> The tracker inspected Bill’s elbow, then barked at his underlings, “Tie the spy up and take him back to Zens with the others. 764 and I will find the giant.” The tracker spun and sped off toward the river, nostrils quivering.
Two grunts bound Bill’s hands, but Bill didn’t fight. He was going to his beloved master. Zens would give him a fine reward for such a big prize.
A New Path
Tomaaz scrambled out of bed and raced to the slave boy. Eyes still shut, the lad was convulsing and shrieking, sheets twisted around his thrashing limbs. The poor littling hadn’t slept through once since they’d arrived back. In Death Valley, none of the slaves had screamed at night. But then again, they’d been numlocked.
Tomaaz shook the boy awake and gathered the lad in his arms. “It’s all right, you’re safe.” Picking up a blanket, he sat in the chair Hendrik, the master craftsman, had brought them. With curved beams under the legs, it rocked back and forth.
“Perfect for getting babes to sleep,” Hendrik had said.
This boy was no babe, maybe eight or nine summers old, but he was as thin as a twig with legs that looked like they’d snap if the wind blew too hard. The boy shuddered. Tomaaz nestled him close and tucked the blanket around his bony frame. He rocked him, smoothing the hair back from his face.
Those haunted lake-blue eyes stared up at him.
“So, what’s your name?” Tomaaz asked for the hundredth time. Despite being here a few days, the boy still hadn’t spoken. Tomaaz talked to him, telling him stories, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Ma and Pa in the next room. Ma still needed rest, too.
Finally, the boy drifted to sleep. Tomaaz tucked him back into bed and lay down on his own pallet. There were hundreds of slaves, like him, in Death Valley.
§
Tomaaz helped Lovina onto Maazini’s saddle and swung up behind her. “Just a short flight.”
“It’s nice not to be in a saddlebag.” She turned to him, their noses nearly touching, and brushed her lips against his.
“I didn’t expect that.”
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 60
