Marlies picked up the dragon’s enormous saddle. “What’s wrong with the rider?”
“He’s unconscious and there’s a lot of blood,” the silver dragon replied. “Marlies …” Liesar turned her turquoise eyes to her, lowering her head. “It’s Tomaaz—Maazini’s not sure if he’ll survive.”
Dropping the saddle, Marlies swung onto Liesar’s bare back, her heart smacking her ribs like a battering ram.
§
“Ezaara!”
Ezaara woke, sitting bolt upright in bed. Strange, she thought she’d heard two voices in her head—not just Zaarusha’s, but also Maazini’s. She must’ve been dreaming again. Nightmares of Tomaaz and Roberto had been bothering her since they’d left for Death Valley six weeks ago. She snuggled back under the covers.
“Ezaara!” This time it was Maazini and Zaarusha.
She yanked back the covers, shivering in the chilly air. “What is it?” she mind-melded with both dragons at once.
Zaarusha answered. “Your brother’s injured, here in my den.”
Gods, no. Ezaara shoved her feet into her boots and her jerkin on over her nightdress, then snatched up her healer’s pouch and ran from her cavern to Zaarusha’s den next door.
Torchlight illuminated a horrifying scene. Her brother lay unconscious on the stone, blood seeping from his side. She knelt down and placed her fingers at his throat. He was still breathing. Heart, still beating. Around his hip, his blood-soaked breeches were in tatters. She pulled the fabric back.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Tomaaz’s right hip was a gaping hole of torn and bloody flesh. His hip joint was shattered. Fragments of splintered bone gleamed in the torchlight among congealed blood and pus.
By the First Egg, no. Ezaara turned away, dry retching. “Zaarusha, call my mother!”
Zaarusha bent over Ezaara, nudging her with her snout. “The master healer and Liesar are on their way. Are you all right?” Behind Zaarusha, Maazini was slumped on the snow.
“I’m fine. Please organize someone to take care of Maazini.” Ezaara turned back to her brother. Feeling his scalp, she found a gash where he’d whacked his head on the stone floor. There were also grazes on his arm, right thigh and side.
Liesar landed with a whump. Ma leapt to the ground and sprinted over.
Ezaara gestured to Tomaaz’s hip. “This is the worst, Ma. He has a gash on his head, but—”
“We’ll have to move him off this cold floor.” Ma’s face was creased with worry. “You take his shoulders while I support his injured hip and legs.”
Tomaaz was a deadweight, leaving a bloody trail behind them. Despite Zaarusha’s efforts to calm her, Ezaara’s heart pounded, mind racing. As they lifted Tomaaz onto her bed, he came to, shrieking in pain. Ezaara’s stomach wrenched.
Ma’s forehead was slick with sweat as she barked instructions. “Make some woozy weed to knock him out again. Fetch powdered slippery elm bark, bone-knit, and piaua juice. Fast!”
Ezaara grabbed the items from her supplies and brewed the woozy weed tea, feeding sips to Tomaaz until his eyes rolled back in his head and he slept.
Grunting, Ma extracted splinters of bone from Tomaaz’s hip wound with her surgical knife, her hands a bloody mess. “Grab that bowl,” her mother snapped. “Three measures of slippery elm to two of bone-knit and a few drops of piaua.”
Ezaara’s hands shook as she measured the powdered bone-knit, spilling some.
Ma grabbed Ezaara’s wrist, Tomaaz’s blood trickling down Ezaara’s arm. “It’s all right, Ezaara, we can do this.” Her voice was steady, but anxiety puckered her brow.
Do what? Help him die without pain? Amputate his leg? Keep him alive so he could never walk or run again? Ezaara nodded, not trusting her voice, and mixed the powder and liquid to form a thick paste.
“Add a little more bone-knit.” Ma placed a few shards of Tomaaz’s shattered bone into a dish, arranging them in some order. “Piaua juice restores life, but the slippery elm and bone knit helps glue the bone back together, giving the restorative juice something to work with. The more pieces of bone we can stick together, the better.” Ma dropped two last bits of Tomaaz’s bone into the dish. “Ezaara, fasten his limbs to the bed so he doesn’t thrash.”
Eyes pricking, Ezaara bound Tomaaz’s arms and legs. She checked his heartbeat, then mixed the ingredients in her bowl. The substance changed in texture, taking on a pale bone color. When the paste formed a thick clump, Ma scooped the substance out of the bowl and pushed it into the cracks in Tomaaz’s hip. “Bring that torch closer, please.” She painstakingly stuck pieces of his ball joint back together, adjusting them, and pushing them into place, until only a thin coating of mixture held them.
It took forever.
Ezaara kept checking Tomaaz’s pulse and breathing. His vibrant orange sathir was steady.
At last, while wiping away the excess mixture, Ma said, “That’s all the largest pieces taken care off. The challenge will be getting the splinters back in.”
“Do you think you got them all?” Ezaara asked, holding up a candle so Ma could see.
Ma picked up a splinter. “There may be shards that have been washed away. Maybe tiny particles have caught in his muscle or connective tissue. That’d give him trouble later. We’ll just have to do our best.”
Fitting the splinters back in took longer than the initial pieces of bone.
When she was done, Ma called Liesar.
The silver dragon snaked her neck through the archway of Ezaara’s cavern. “It’s all right, Ezaara, we’ve done this before, years ago. It’s unnerving, but might help.”
Might help?
Liesar stretched her neck down to Tomaaz’s wound, blowing over it. Her hot dragon’s breath solidified the ball joint and smoothened Ma’s work, hardening it into a slick replica of Tomaaz’s bone.
An odd scent filled the cavern. “Zaarusha, have you seen that before?”
The dragon queen peered through the doorway. “Anakisha, my former rider, had me use similar techniques,” Zaarusha melded.” But now, I leave healing to the healers.”
“Anakisha taught me this after a battle,” Ma said. “We saved the leg of a young boy whose kneecap had been shattered. It’s not always perfect, but it’s better than amputation.” She shook her head at the mangled flesh of her son’s hip. “Mind you, it’s not always successful. Pass me my surgical knife.”
Ezaara passed the knife.
“We can’t have jagged edges catching in his flesh.” Ma scraped Tomaaz’s new ball joint with her knife, clearing the debris away from his wound.
The blade rasped, setting Ezaara’s teeth on edge. Tomaaz’s eyes fluttered and he moaned and his head thrashed. They’d been working on him so long, the woozy weed had worn off. Ezaara clenched her teeth and held his hand. Even with his arms bound, he gripped her fingers so hard her eyes smarted.
“Could you bring me some piaua, clean herb and cloths?” Slumping into a seat, Ma wiped her forehead. “The bone’s fixed now, but his muscles and connective tissue have taken a hammering. We must staunch the bleeding.”
Ezaara gestured at his mangled flesh. “At least the blood has washed the pus away.” She passed Ma clean herb and placed her fingers on Tomaaz’s throat. “His heartbeat’s weakening. His sathir is fading.” Ezaara’s own heart lurched. Even though Ma had fixed his hip, he could still die from shock and blood loss.
“Quick,” Ma said. “The piaua, before he loses more blood.”
They treated the wound with piaua juice, layer by layer, the flesh healing before their eyes. Tomaaz’s breaths were shallow and rapid.
“I thought I knew a lot of healing remedies, but I’ve never seen anything like that new bone,” Ezaara said.
“The piaua will help his nerves to regenerate,” Ma explained.
Ezaara bit her lip.
“What is it?” Ma asked, setting the piaua vial aside.
“Will he be able to walk again?”
Ma shrugged. “We’ll have to see.�
�� Ma stitched the hip wound shut, sealing it with piaua.
Ezaara parted Tomaaz’s hair and applied a few drops of piaua to his head wound.
Ma snipped the stitches on his hip, tugging them free, then checked his pulse. “His heartbeat is stronger, but still rapid. We’ll need to keep him warm. Hopefully the shock isn’t too much for him.” Ezaara covered Tomaaz with some blankets.
“He’s not out of the woods yet, is he?”
Ma shook her head. “No, he’s not, but there’s nothing more we can do.” She sank into a chair and patted the seat next to her. Ma’s arms and hands were splattered in blood. Ezaara fetched her a bowl of water, asking Zaarusha to warm it. They cleaned up their hands, the area and the wound site.
“What now?” Ezaara asked.
“We wait until he revives and see whether it’s worked. In the best case, he’ll walk with discomfort. In the worst …” Ma sighed, patting Ezaara’s hand. “I’ll sit with him. Why don’t you take a breather?”
Ezaara walked outside through Zaarusha’s den, where the dragons were sleeping.
Zaarusha opened an eye as she passed. “Maazini’s not injured, just exhausted.”
“Any word of Erob?”
“Not yet. Maazini was too tired to make much sense.” The queen’s eye drifted shut.
The cool air out on the ledge dried the sweat on Ezaara’s brow, making it stiff with salt. She leaned against the stone wall, her hands clenching the fabric of her jerkin. Where were Erob and Roberto?
She shuddered as her nightmares replayed in her mind: Commander Zens torturing Roberto. Screaming, his handsome features were twisted into a mask of pain, his olive skin crusted with blood.
No. It was just a nightmare. She’d find out the truth when Tomaaz or Maazini woke.
Roberto would be fine. He was resourceful, clever. He’d survived being captured by Zens before. Him and Erob might be flying home now, just hours behind Maazini.
Ezaara sank to the snowy ledge, not caring about the chill.
Soon, the first rays of dawn hit the peaks of Dragon’s Teeth—the ring of mountains surrounding the basin of Dragons’ Hold—setting them on fire. Ezaara scanned the skies. No dragons.
Roberto’s face flashed to mind, his ebony eyes tender as he’d kissed her, vowing to return. No one knew they were promised to each other. No one must know. As master of mental faculties and imprinting, he was forbidden to love his trainee. Not that she’d be his trainee for much longer—she was nearly qualified.
She touched the crystal teardrop at her neck. A memory cascaded through her mind: Roberto nearly plunging to his death when he and Erob had fought Ajeuria.
Her gaze swept the empty snow-covered basin.
What if Roberto didn’t come back? A chill climbed Ezaara’s spine. What if he was already dead?
Footfalls echoed behind her. Ma was approaching. Ezaara’s backside was freezing. How long had she been sitting, lost in her thoughts?
“Tomaaz is stirring,” Ma said.
Ezaara nodded and followed Ma into her cavern. The scent of clear-mind infusion hung in the air. Ma must have steeped the berries to wake her brother. Pa was sitting by her bed, his brow furrowed, watching her brother.
Head tossing, Tomaaz was moaning and muttering in his sleep.
Ezaara patted his hand. “Tomaaz, it’s all right. You’re safe at Dragons’ Hold. It’s me, Ezaara.”
His eyelids fluttered, then flew open. “Ezaara, I’ve failed,” he rasped. “Commander Zens has captured Roberto.”
War Council
“Ezaara, did you hear me?” Tomaaz asked, grasping her hand. “Roberto’s been captured by Commander Zens.”
Ezaara was lost for words. Her mind spun. Roberto was captive. Surely Zens would kill him.
“What happened, Tomaaz?” Pa asked.
“We were leaving Death Valley when tharuks attacked us. They forced Erob to the ground and dragged Roberto away. Maazini flamed tharuks and I shot some, but they drove us back with limplocked arrows.”
“When?” Pa asked.
“Five days ago.” Tomaaz looked at Ezaara. “Roberto had a message for you: something about his mother saying, teardrops amplify thoughts. Erob told Maazini to tell the Queen’s Rider.”
What did that mean?
Probably that she should hide her sorrow so no one knew how she felt. Ezaara resisted the urge to clutch her necklace. No one must know it was from Roberto.
“Make any sense?” Ma asked.
Ezaara shook her head. She didn’t dare tell anyone.
“Um, Ezaara, do you mind letting go of my fingers?” Tomaaz asked. “You’re crushing them.”
She glanced down—she had his hand in a death grip. “Sorry,” she said, releasing his fingers. “I’m so relieved you’re home. We need to sort out how to retrieve Roberto, but first, how’s your hip?”
How was she sounding so normal, so in control? Ezaara wanted to scream, rage, and pound the stone walls with her fists. Zens had nearly broken Roberto last time. She shuddered, remembering the awful memories he’d shared when they were in Naobia. Shocking, violent memories that had taken weeks for her to push to the back of her mind. And now Roberto was in that monster’s hands again. Ezaara clutched the crystal teardrop at her neck.
“Let’s see if you can stand. Hans, give him a hand,” Ma said. “Now, Tomaaz, flex your leg like this …”
As Ma tested Tomaaz’s reflexes, Ezaara went to the other side of her cavern to get changed. “Zaarusha, notify the dragons that I’m calling an urgent council meeting.” She couldn’t turn up in her nightdress and jerkin. She dressed mechanically, fastening her healer’s pouch at her waist. Instead of tugging her boots back on, she selected the shoes Roberto had given her for their race. Light and supple, they were hand-painted with a likeness of Zaarusha soaring over a lake, her colorful scales reflected in the water.
“Everyone’s been roused and is on their way, except Tonio, who will be a little late.”
So, the spymaster was off on business again. Ezaara was almost relieved. Tonio wasn’t exactly her favorite dragon master.
Ma had Tomaaz on his feet. He was still a little unsteady.
He needed a cane. Ezaara’s hand automatically fastened around the walking stick leaning against her wardrobe. Roberto had carved it for her when she’d twisted her ankle. Her throat grew tight. Even when she’d mistrusted him, he’d been caring. She held the beautiful handle, carved with herself upon Zaarusha, and offered it to Tomaaz. “Would this be helpful?”
Tomaaz took the cane. “Thanks, Ezaara.”
Ma nodded at Tomaaz. “Your range of motion is pretty good, and the wound has healed well, but it’ll feel odd while your muscles adjust to the new joint. Do you have any pain?”
Tomaaz screwed up his nose. “No pain, but it does feel weak, as if it might give out. The walking stick will be great.”
“I know you haven’t slept much, Tomaaz, but we’ve called a war council,” Ezaara said. “They’ll need to hear your report. Are you up to attending?”
“I haven’t had a chance to see Lovina or the boy yet. How have they been?”
“Both thriving,” Ma answered. “They’ll keep another hour or so. They’re probably fast asleep anyhow. You should attend the council first.”
“Of course he should,” Ezaara snapped. “We need to know what’s happened.” Oh shards, she sounded ratty. She had to do something or she’d crack.
Tomaaz gave her a long look, then nodded. “I’ll come.”
“I’ll bring him. Maazini is exhausted.”
“Zaarusha says she’ll take you,” Ezaara said, striding to the door. “I’m walking. I have an urgent errand on the way.” She went into the corridor and closed the door.
“Ezaara?” Zaarusha asked.
“I can’t stand it, Zaarusha. I have to do something or I’ll go mad.”
Ezaara started running, feet pounding the stone. She ran away from the council chamber, toward the main cavern, then took the left corri
dor down to the storerooms. A slow burn built in her muscles. She reached down deep, seeking sathir. The air shimmered with a thin ribbon of multi-colored light. That was her connection to Zaarusha. She strained to feel the deep blue of Erob and Roberto. Nothing. She wanted to scream, but didn’t dare, so instead, she exhaled forcefully, sucking in great gulps of air. Fire leapt into her veins—she was harnessing her dragon’s power. She sped through the dark subterranean tunnels.
“Run like the wind,” Zaarusha mind-melded. “Tomaaz and I have just arrived, but not everyone’s here yet. You have a few moments to purge your sorrow before you face the council.”
“Thank the dragon gods, you understand.”
Comfort washed over Ezaara, but she shrugged it off. Pushing her muscles until they seared, she ran past the door to the dungeons. At last, she came to a staircase winding up to the rear exit of the council chamber—the exit the guards had manhandled Roberto out of when he’d been banished. Ezaara raced up the stairs until her head spun and her legs trembled. A few steps from the top, she mind-melded, “Zaarusha, is everyone there yet?”
“Two more to come: Jerrick, and Tonio—who’ll be late.”
Ezaara sat on a step and leaned back against the wall, taking slow deep breaths. Nothing had changed. Roberto was still Zens’ prisoner. But at least she no longer felt like screaming or punching something. She stood, smoothed her jerkin and opened the door to the council chamber.
Lars, leader of the council, gave her a quizzical look as she entered and took her seat beside him at the arch of the horseshoe-shaped granite table. Near the wall behind the table, the dragons crouched, scales gleaming in the torchlight. There were no natural windows in this chamber.
“You’re looking much more settled,” Zaarusha melded.
“If only I felt it.”
Seven people were at the table, including Lars. Five seats were still empty. Two masters—Shari and Jaevin—had recently been murdered. Tonio’s seat remained vacant, and Jerrick, the master archer, wasn’t here yet. The last empty spot was Roberto’s, which made Ezaara swallow, but she quashed her feelings. Now was not the time for emotion, only for action.
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 63
