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

by Eileen Mueller

  Ezaara began the painstaking process of cleansing and tending his wounds. She used healing salve, stitched the worst of his slashes shut, and applied piaua juice. This morning, in the infirmary, she’d overheard Ma telling Leah they didn’t have much piaua left. Guilt flashed through her. Zens had smashed Ezaara’s precious vials of the restorative juice when he’d battered her. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken so many with her. She’d thought she could heal some slaves, but she’d barely escaped with her life.

  “Ezaara, my son is blocking the archway. How’s Roberto?” Zaarusha asked.

  “I’m healing him now, but he’s still unconscious.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you escaped. Tharuks were attacking Monte Vista, so I had to defend our people. It’s been a long flight. I’m going to rest.”

  “Thank you for bringing him home. I’m glad you’re back. Sleep well.”

  Erob shifted, adjusting his weight. “He’s tough, you know.”

  “No one should have to withstand this.” Anger burned through Ezaara. “I have an arrow with Zens’ name on it. One day I’ll fire it.”

  “I hate what Zens has done to him, but do you know what’s special about Roberto?” Erob asked.

  Everything. “What?”

  “Zens taught him how to manipulate human minds—a terrible power to wield. Yet he only uses his talents for good.”

  True. Even though Roberto had been through hell, he’d risen above it.

  Ezaara looked at her unconscious lover. His face was sunken, making his cheekbones stand out like mountain ridges. Dark shadows lay under his eyes. She’d healed his broken nose, cleansed the blood from his face, yet under the wear and tear of his captivity he was still beautiful.

  But what had Zens done to his mind? Had he broken him? Would he rise above this too?

  §

  Adelina cautiously opened Ezaara’s door. Ezaara, sitting at Roberto’s bedside, glanced up. “Come in,” she said softly.

  Adelina approached the bed. Roberto was home. He was here. Breath rushed into her lungs. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it. “He’s thin, isn’t he?” And as pale as death.

  “He has a lot of new scars, even with piaua.”

  And those were only the physical ones. What mental torture had Zens inflicted upon her brother? Would he scream in the deep of the night, the way he had for two years after last escaping Zens? Adelina sat and stroked his hand. It didn’t matter. No matter how badly damaged he was, he was her family.

  §

  “You’re joking? All the mages are here?” Fenni asked.

  Master Giddi’s infamous eyebrows wiggled an affirmative. Fenni had never thought he’d be so happy to see those sharding eyebrows again.

  “How are the riders reacting?” Jael asked, getting up off the pallet they’d given him in Tomaaz’s cavern.

  Giddi shrugged. “Time will tell.”

  Giant John leaned back against the wall. “Fighting tharuks together helped form some bonds between riders and mages. You missed a ferocious battle.”

  What exactly had gone down at Mage Gate? “There’s only one thing I want to know,” Fenni said. “Did anyone shoot fireballs from underwater?”

  Jael chuckled.

  Master Giddi only lifted his eyebrow again. “I told you the main purpose of that exercise was to help your control,” he mind-melded.

  “Will you get out of my head?” Fenni thought back. All that training and he’d missed the best fight.

  “Sure,” Giddi melded.

  What? He’d just mind-melded back. Fenni gaped at Giddi, but his master just laughed.

  “Don’t worry, Fenni,” Master Giddi said. “It won’t be the last battle. Spanglewood is teeming with tharuks.”

  “Good,” said Fenni. “Kierion, Jael and I have ideas for training mages and riders together. Can we try them?”

  “Try whatever you want,” Giddi chuckled. “Just don’t get flamed by an irate dragon.”

  Giddi didn't think he was serious. Just wait until he saw what they’d planned.

  There was a bang at the door, and Hans entered. “Giddi, there’s been bad news. The Wizard Council have done a head count. Two young mages have been taken by tharuks—Velrama and Sorcha,” Hans said. “Apparently the tharuks boasted Zens is hunting for you, as well.”

  Master Giddi was on his feet in a heartbeat, striding to the door.

  Jael nudged Fenni. “Those were the two mages who were dueling when Sorcha was disqualified. The girl who made the doorway in the ice wall.”

  “Shards, they’re so young. Only our age.” Kierion was suddenly glad he’d missed the battle.

  Shadows

  Roberto had been cold, cold, cold for so long. Now he was warm. Bleary peace stole through him. He could sleep like this forever. Never wake up. A face flashed to mind. Deep green eyes that he could lose himself in, blonde hair, and a smile to die for. Ezaara. That’s right, he’d been searching for her, but now he was too tired, so he’d just stay asleep, roaming the halls of his lost mind.

  Wait—he couldn’t sleep in this snow drift forever. He’d die. But why was he warm? Snow burn? Or numb nerves? He had to keep moving.

  Roberto stirred, his limbs heavy. Most of his pain was gone. He dragged his eyelids open.

  He was no longer in the forest. There was still a blanket of white, but it wasn’t snow; it was Ezaara’s quilt—white, edged with golden dragons. He was home. The gods knew how, but he’d made it. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d be joyful. He sighed, his eyelids fluttering closed again.

  He forced them open. There she was: looking every bit as lovely as his dream, bending over a table, sorting herbs into pouches. The torchlight played across her blonde hair like sun on liquid honey.

  Writhing shadows flickered at the edge of his vision. His knife, resting on the bedside table, called to him, the shine of its blade alluring. His fingers fastened around the handle. Its grip felt good, so natural. He had to use it.

  His gaze fastened on the beautiful girl at the table. Shadows writhed around her, beckoning him forward.

  Roberto slid his feet noiselessly to the floor, holding the knife at his side where it wouldn’t be seen.

  §

  Ezaara put clean herb into a pouch and tied it, then poured some soppleberries into another. It was better than wearing a hole in the stone with her boots. Hopefully Roberto would wake without some gods-awful head injury or permanent damage. The dull ache in her chest hadn’t eased completely. It wouldn’t until she knew he was well.

  “Liesar, when’s Ma coming to check on him?”

  “She knows he’s here, Ezaara, please be patient. She has injured wizards in the infirmary.”

  And a helper. Couldn’t Leah take care of them? This was Roberto, for the Egg’s sake. A master on the council.

  How would it be, loving him, now that she was no longer his trainee? Glorious, no doubt. She hardly dared hope he’d recover.

  A scrape sounded on the floor. She glanced up. Roberto was standing by the bed, wan and thin. Seeing him awake was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Everything was going to be all right. “Roberto. You’re up. Welcome home.”

  “Hello, Ezaara.”

  His voice was strained, poor thing. “How do your legs feel?” She stood, her chair scraping stone.

  He shuddered at the noise. The tiny moon-shaped scar below his eye twitched as he prowled across the cavern. “My legs are fine. Thank you for healing them.” His voice was stilted, not like Roberto.

  Something was wrong. Even in Death Valley he hadn’t stared at her like that. As if she were prey. “Roberto, I’ve missed you.” She tried for bright and cheery, but her voice squeaked.

  Roberto’s face twisted into an ugly grimace. He lunged, slamming her against the wall. A blade flashed. In a heartbeat, his knife was at her throat.

  Oh gods, Handel’s prophecy had come true: Roberto was attacking her. She’d tried multiple times to deny it, but her father’s bronze dragon
had shown her a vision of Roberto lunging at her. And then, they’d seen it again. They’d seen now.

  “Now we can talk, Queen’s Rider,” Roberto sneered.

  “Zaaru—” An iron wall slammed across her mind, blocking her attempt to meld with the queen.

  “Your mental talents are puny compared to mine.” His thoughts were dark, evil, like a choking fog.

  Ezaara snapped meld and blocked his probing mind. Her throat grew tight. This man was not Roberto. His eyes glinted with malice, the whites tinged yellow—Zens had gotten to him.

  “You, an ignorant little farm girl from Lush Valley thought you could waltz in here and become Queen’s Rider? Thought you could take me for your lover—the man with the best mental skills in Dragons’ Realm? I, who have learned from the master of the mind.”

  Dragon’s flaming claws and teeth. He was gone. The man she loved was gone. This was Roberto’s shell, controlled by Zens. Ezaara’s hope crumbled. Zens had broken Roberto physically and mentally. He’d found a way to steal her lover’s mind, chaining it to his will.

  Her thoughts raced. She couldn’t let Zens win.

  Roberto would be weak. She could probably fight him and break free. But she’d be pitting him against her, not winning him over.

  She’d better play this cool, downplay his aggression.

  “Oh, Roberto, you’re testing my skills.” She faked a laugh, but it came out strangled. The knife pricked her skin, stinging. Warm blood trickled down her neck, under her collar. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a training session. You’ve been through quite a rough time. You know, maybe it would be better to have a cup of tea and train later?” His eyes narrowed and he licked his lips as she mentioned tea. He was bound to be hungry and thirsty. “Look, I have fresh soppleberries, right here.”

  He glanced down at the table, the pressure of his knife easing.

  What else? If Zens had turned him, perhaps she needed to remind him of who he was and whom he loved. “Have you missed Erob?”

  “Erob?” Wistfulness flashed across Roberto’s face. “Yes, I’ve missed him.” The tension on the blade loosened. Then his face contorted with hate. “Sharding dragons.” The blade bit into her flesh again.

  “Yes, they’re so fickle, terrible creatures, aren’t they? Remember the time Erob met you in Death Valley and saved you from Zens? I’ll just pop the tea on, shall I?”

  He frowned. “I like soppleberry tea, don’t I?”

  Gods, Roberto’s mind was truly gone. Her eyes stung. “Yes, you love it,” Ezaara said. “I’ll make a cup now. Please, take a seat, Master Roberto.”

  He shook his head, as if to clear it. The knife clattered to the floor, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

  Ezaara pulled out a seat. “Please, sit down.” Whatever it was that was driving him, he was battling it. He wasn’t completely under its control—yet.

  Roberto picked up the knife and jammed it into his belt, taking a seat. “Thank you, my Queen’s Rider.”

  Shards, she’d hoped to grab the weapon while he was distracted. Ezaara threw some soppleberries into two cups. “I’ll only be a moment.” She rushed out to the ledge, getting Zaarusha to heat the tea. Thank the Egg, Erob wasn’t around. It would break his heart to see Roberto like this—just as it was breaking hers. She blinked away tears. Not now.

  Ezaara crumbled a double dose of woozy weed into his cup and bustled back inside.

  Roberto was cleaning his fingernails with his knife. “How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?” he asked, his voice as chill as the ice on Dragons’ Hold’s lake.

  She forced a brittle laugh. “Here you go, tea for two. Drink up. Would you like some food? You must be hungry.” Ezaara took a huge sip and smiled, her heart splintering into thousands of tiny icy shards.

  Who was this man? Roberto hadn’t come home at all.

  §

  Ezaara was so beautiful, so sweet, giving him tea. The tart berries soothed his raw throat, the warmth stealing through him.

  Dark fog crept along the edge of Roberto’s vision. Murky blackness writhed across Ezaara’s face and curled its fingers around her throat. “Kill her,” it whispered. “No, she isn’t beautiful. She’s a usurper. Zens is the rightful leader of the realm. This girl is puny, breakable. Zens will reward you finely if you’re brave enough to spill her blood.”

  Of course he was brave. He’d stood up to Amato hundreds of times, taking Adelina’s beatings. He’d killed tharuks and slaves for Zens before. He had courage enough to kill this wench.

  He saw himself slitting Ezaara’s throat, her beautiful blood spraying high, dribbling red down the cavern walls.

  Smiling, Roberto sipped his tea. He’d bide his time and strike when Ezaara trusted him.

  §

  Roberto’s head slumped to the tabletop. He snored softly.

  Ezaara removed the knife from his grip and turned it over in her hands. He’d wanted to kill her. She’d seen it in his eyes. She turned the knife again. He might have, had she not knocked him out. The irony hit her. She’d been sitting here, desperate for him to wake, and now he was out cold again.

  She spun the knife in her fingers, then spun it again.

  There was a whump on the ledge outside, and Erob melded, “How’s Roberto?”

  Ezaara blocked her thoughts, staring into space as her fingers flicked the knife again. And again.

  “Ezaara.” Erob’s tone was frantic. “What aren’t you telling me? Is Roberto dead?”

  He might as well be. The man she’d loved was gone.

  §

  Marlies hurried along the tunnel, a bag of healing supplies slung over her shoulder. Liesar said Ezaara had requested her hours ago, but there’d been one injured mage after another in the infirmary. Finally, she’d left Leah and Lovina in charge, so she could visit her daughter.

  She cricked her neck. Tiredness dogged her steps every day since she’d returned from Death Valley. She’d been trying to hide it, but her bones knew—and Hans knew—just how exhausted she was.

  Marlies opened Ezaara’s door. “By the dragon gods,” she murmured.

  The torches had burned down, sputtering in their sconces, casting a pale glow over a tableau: Master Roberto was hunched over a table, sleeping, and Ezaara was sitting opposite him, twirling a knife in her hands. Light glanced off the blade as it slid across her skin. Then again.

  It was Ezaara’s face that made Marlies suck her breath in. Blood at her throat, eyes vacant and dried streaks on her cheeks, she stared into nothing. Marlies had seen people in severe shock—usually after an accident or the death of a loved one. But Master Roberto’s breathing was even—he was alive.

  She moved slowly into the cavern, keeping her voice low and even. “Ezaara.”

  Ezaara jolted. The knife clattered on stone.

  Roberto grunted in his sleep.

  Ezaara’s hand flew to her mouth, panic on her face. “Don’t wake him,” she hissed.

  Marlies placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and crouched to look in her eyes. “Why not?” She whispered.

  “Roberto’s home, Ma, but he’s dead inside. Zens is controlling him.”

  §

  Ma picked up a cup and sniffed it. “How much woozy weed did you give him? How long has he been out?”

  “A double dose.” Shards, how long had it been? It felt like forever. “I don’t know … um … four hundred and two knife turns?”

  “We’ve no time to lose. Help me lift him.”

  They carried Roberto over to her bed. He was so light, so thin. “Ma, this isn’t something a simple remedy or surgery can fix.”

  “Actually, it might be. Let me see. Do you have any rope?”

  “Yes, in Zaarusha’s saddlebags.” She melded, “Zaarusha?”

  “On my way. How can I help?”

  Ezaara rushed out to the den as Zaarusha landed.

  A worried Erob butted her with his snout. “Is Roberto all right?”

  Ezaara shared her memory of Roberto�
�s attack with both of them as she fished in Zaarusha’s saddlebags for rope. When she went back inside, Ma was examining Roberto’s chest and arms.

  “You’ve done a good job of healing him, Ezaara. Did you see any unusual bumps or swelling? Anything that wouldn’t heal properly?”

  “Yes, under his right shoulder blade.” She turned him over and lifted his shirt. “Here.” The angry red bump glared at them.

  “Zens may have implanted a crystal inside Roberto that controls his thoughts and actions. Sofia had one, too. Let’s tie him down.”

  Ezaara tied Roberto’s wrists to the bed, while Ma tied his legs. So cruel. He’d only just escaped shackles and now she was the one tying him. The irony made the icy shards of her heart twist deeper into her chest.

  Ma lit a new torch so they could see, then sliced along the apex of the lump in his flesh. Ezaara staunched the blood seeping over his back. Inside the wound, something yellow glinted. Ma squeezed the edges of the wound. Red and yellow rivulets ran out of the wound, leaving trails over his back. Ma edged the crystal out of Roberto’s body.

  “Help me,” she grunted.

  Ezaara applied pressure to the sides of his wound. A blood-smeared yellow stone—as long as Ezaara’s finger and twice as thick—slithered out onto Roberto’s back.

  Roberto’s body tensed, then went limp.

  “This stone is how Zens controls people?”

  Ma nodded. “Fleur did the same to Sofia. We found that Unocco—the dragon that the traitor Bruno used to ride—had a crystal embedded under his wing.” Bitterness flashed across Ma’s face. “It’s strange, because Fleur only used swayweed with Ajeuria, yet they implanted Sofia and Unocco. I can’t figure out why.”

  Why had Ma looked so bitter? Fleur and Bruno had been from Montanara, and Ma had grown up there. On a hunch, Ezaara asked, “Did you know Bruno?”

  Ma gave her an odd look. “I just found out yesterday that Master Bruno was the same man who had run the Nightshader crew in Montanara—a terrible street gang who stole from littlings and beat people up. I’m glad he’s been banished. Now take that crystal to Zaarusha so she can destroy it.”

  The crystal emanated an angry hum, like a swarm of bees, against her fingertips. Ezaara rushed outside.