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

by Eileen Mueller

  Her lips quirked up into a smile. “How about that breakfast?”

  Kierion reached into the cauldron. “Have you ever had wizard porridge?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

  “It’s savory, with herbs and cheese. Fenni and Jael showed me how to make it a while ago. I guarantee it’s tasty.”

  Kierion filled the cauldron from the lake, then bustled around the fire, adding ingredients from Riona’s saddlebags.

  Adelina helped him, stirring the porridge with a ladle as Kierion sliced cheese and mushrooms into it. “You know,” she said, “my father wasn’t always bad. When I was a tiny littling, he was the leader of the green guards in Naobia. I wanted to be like him when I grew up. Sadly, everything changed after Zens took him captive.”

  Kierion sprinkled salt and herbs into the mix.

  Sorrow shadowed Adelina’s face. “He used to beat me and Ma. I was so small. One day, Roberto came inside and saw it. From then on, he never let me out of his sight. And if Pa was on the rampage, my brother would hide me in the barn, the wardrobe, or even take me far away to Crystal Lake so we could swim and be happy.”

  “You were lucky to have a brother like that.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes damp again. Her voice was hoarse. “Though it never stopped me from hearing Pa beat Roberto in my stead.”

  Suddenly, Kierion was glad Adelina’s father was dead because if he were alive, he’d rip that shrotty man’s throat out. He looked her directly in the eye. “If you want me to toss those dragon earrings to the bottom of the lake so you never have to think about any of this again, I’ll gladly do it. I never meant to give you something painful.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh no, Kierion, it’s not your gift. Because Roberto went home to Naobia, I’ve been thinking about my family all week.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “The earrings are lovely.” Her fingers drifted to the scarf at her neck. “And apart from my grandmother’s keepsake, I’ve never had anything this beautiful before. Thank you.”

  Kierion went to the saddlebags to get the bowls but found only mugs. “I was going to save them for tea, afterward, but do you mind eating out of these?”

  She shrugged. “We could eat straight from the cauldron and still have tea after.”

  So they sat on the bench, the cauldron between them, and feasted on wizard porridge.

  When the cauldron was empty, Adelina licked off her spoon. “This is grand. I never dreamed mages ate so well.”

  Kierion scrubbed the cauldron out with lake weed at the river’s edge, his fingers numb in the chilly water. “I’ve always thought it would be better if wizard porridge was magic and could make me fly, but every time I’ve eaten it, my feet stay on the ground.”

  Adelina laughed at his bad joke. At least she was smiling.

  “Lucky we get to fly dragons instead.” She tilted her head. “Thank you for cheering me up today. I’ve been missing my brother.”

  “If he’s your only family, it’d be strange him being hand-fasted now.” Kierion put the cauldron of water back on the fire.

  Adelina shrugged. “I’ve gained a sister.”

  A dragon’s bellow ripped through the air. Birds squawked, flapping out of the trees.

  Adelina cringed. “What was that?”

  “Riona?”

  “A dragon in pain,” Riona answered.

  “Linaia says Septimor’s hurt.” Adelina sprang to her feet.

  “Riona says so, too. Come on, there’s no time to lose.” Kierion emptied the cauldron over the fire. Steam billowed into the cold air. He threw everything into saddlebags and they leaped into the saddle. Riona’s great haunches bunched as she thrust them into the air, her muscles rippling and her wings beating the air.

  They shot above the forest as another bellow sliced the sky.

  Kierion twisted in the saddle.

  It was Septimor, all right—bucking and writhing in the sky, his talons thrashing at his head. Seppi was hunched low in the saddle, arms around Septimor’s neck.

  “Fly, Riona. Fly,” Kierion urged. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

  A flurry of colored wings emerged from the Southern caverns signaling a horde of dragons flying out to meet Septimor and Seppi.

  Riona projected a babble of alarmed dragons’ voices into Kierion’s head.

  “I’m surprised you can think with that din.”

  Abruptly, the dragons’ voices ceased. “I can’t,” Riona replied, “and no, no one has been able to mind-meld with him properly. All they hear is this.”

  A scream of terror shattered Kierion’s thoughts, making his head pound. He let go of Adelina’s waist and gripped his head. “Stop. Stop it.”

  “That’s the only thing we can hear from Septimor,” Riona replied.

  Dragons were escorting Septimor toward the infirmary ledge. Riona swooped down. Septimor’s enormous blue body slumped onto the ledge, his wings flopping uselessly at his sides. He writhed, still clawing at his head.

  Riders ran to help Seppi dismount. His riders’ garb was drenched in blood from the abdomen down.

  “By the holy dragon gods,” Adelina gasped. “They were on a routine patrol. What could’ve happened?”

  Simeon’s Revenge

  Roberto tried melding with Ezaara again. “Ezaara, are you running late? Distracted at the jewelry stall? Where are you?” Nothing, again.

  A green guard was shooting over the rooftops, emerald wings catching the sun. For a moment, it reminded him of his littling years when Amato had been their leader. Why was that green dragon swooping so low? Couldn’t the beast and rider see they’d collide with a house if they didn’t change course?

  Hang on, the green was spiraling down to meet him.

  Oh gods, something was wrong. Roberto leaped to his feet, running.

  The green banked steeply and landed in the piazza with a thud. “Master Roberto,” called the green guard, “the Queen’s Rider’s in danger.”

  Fear lanced through Roberto. Chest tight, he scrambled into the saddle behind the rider. “What’s wrong? Where is she?”

  “Some men have her in an alley. A green guard is rushing to her aid.”

  “Is she hurt?” Ezaara was good with a sword. Hopefully she could fight her way out of that alley. “Erob. Ezaara.” Oh, claws, why had he insisted on this rutting picnic? Ezaara was more important than fancy clothes, more important than anything. “Ezaara!” Still no answer.

  “I don’t know,” the guard said, the dragon flapping her wings and springing skyward.

  The green guard must’ve found out by Ezaara melding with it. He laid his hand on the dragon’s hide, behind the saddle. “Please show me what happened to Ezaara.”

  A man leering over her, sunlight streaming between narrow buildings, casting his face in shadow. The man moved. Roberto gasped. It was Simeon. Back from the Wastelands. Something was wrong with Ezaara, she wasn’t fighting him, just lying there. Simeon knelt and ran his finger down her throat, spreading something warm and sticky. Blood. Oh gods, what had Simeon done?

  “Hurry,” Roberto urged the dragon, “please hurry.”

  §

  “Help. Now!” Ezaara’s plea was answered by the swish of wings overhead. Simeon was so engrossed with undoing her jerkin that he didn’t notice the shadow flitting across the alley.

  But Bruno did. Without a word to his son, he raced away.

  “I’m paralyzed. They’ve drugged me. Help.”

  “The alley’s too narrow. I can’t get in.” the dragon replied.

  Simeon rubbed his filthy fingers over the skin beneath Ezaara’s collarbone. “So soft,” he crooned as if he were her lover.

  Sweat beaded on Ezaara’s forehead. She forced a smile, anything to distract him.

  Wingbeats stirred Simeon’s hair. A lick of flame shot between the buildings. Simeon spun, drawing his sword, and ducked the flame.

  Talons clattered on the shingled roof as a dragon landed. A moment later an arrow zipped between the b
uildings at Simeon.

  He deflected it with his sword.

  Ezaara tried to wriggle her fingers. They responded. Thank the Egg, the berries were wearing off. Her sword was still too far away, but if she let Simeon think she was helpless, perhaps she could grab it. She flexed her toes in her boots. Good, they were working too. Her legs spasmed, control returning to her muscles.

  Simeon dragged Ezaara to her feet. He stood behind her, pulled her against his torso, and held a dagger to her throat. “One more move, rider, and I’ll slit her throat.”

  The green dragon roared, flame gusting above the buildings, but the rider froze.

  She slumped heavily on Simeon as he hauled her toward the alley mouth—toward her sword.

  “Lie, belly down, on that rooftop,” Simeon yelled at the rider.

  The rider lay on the verdigris copper shingles. The dragon stalked, scraping the shingles with her talons.

  Simeon’s grip didn’t slacken as he pulled Ezaara along the alley, blade at her throat. She stayed slumped, every nerve tingling with awareness. Seven paces to her sword.

  Six.

  Five paces. She shared her plan with the dragon.

  It settled, watching from the rooftop. “If anything goes wrong, I’m not holding back. You’re our first Queen’s Rider in eighteen years. I won’t have you harmed.”

  Four paces.

  “Ezaara!”

  By the dragon gods! “Roberto.” Three paces. She didn’t dare look up.

  “Hold on, I’m nearly there.”

  Two paces.

  “Wait,” Simeon said. “Something’s up. How did that dragon know to come here? And why is he peaceful now? You’re melding with it, you dirty little snipe.”

  It was now or never. Ezaara stomped on Simeon’s foot and drove her elbow into his ribs.

  Not brilliant, but enough to loosen his grip.

  She drove her head up under his chin. His head snapped back. She bent and grabbed her sword, spinning to face him.

  Simeon rushed her.

  Ezaara parried Simeon’s low swipe, then blocked another downward strike. Metal clashed against metal, ringing through the alley.

  Behind Simeon, another green guard landed on a roof. Riders nocked their bows, arrows trained on the fight.

  “Our archers can’t shoot because they might hit you,” melded the green she’d been conversing with. “Try to get free.”

  Simeon jabbed the point of his sword at her throat, and she knocked it away, his sword scraping along her blade up to its guard. But her muscles, still fuzzy after the berries, were tiring fast. Gradually, he drove her backward. Her foot struck a wall. He had her cornered.

  “I’m tired of messing around,” Simeon snarled. “If I can’t have you, Roberto won’t either. He thrust his blade past Ezaara’s guard, toward her heart.

  §

  “Do you have a rope?” Roberto barked at the rider.

  “Back left saddlebag,” the guard replied, hunching low as they swooped over alleys and rooftops so Roberto could see.

  Roberto pulled the rope out of the saddle bag and stowed his rucksack inside. He tied the rope around his waist then fastened it to the dragon’s saddle strap. Not the best place, but hopefully it would do. He pressed his hand on the dragon’s side. “How soon until we’re there?”

  “A few dozen wingbeats,” the green replied.

  “Ezaara,” Roberto tried melding again. “Are you all right?”

  He caught snatches of movement, a sense of panic.

  “Hold on, I’m nearly there.”

  “Roberto,” Erob’s call was strong. His dragon’s urgency rushed through him. He glanced back to a flash of blue wings and the glint of sun on multi-colored scales far behind him. Erob and Zaarusha were coming but they’d be too late.

  As long as he wasn’t.

  A cold sweat broke out on Roberto’s neck. “Faster,” he urged the dragon. “Faster. We must save the Queen’s Rider.”

  The verdigris copper roofs of Naobia flashed by below. Ahead, green guards were poised on rooftops above a narrow alley. Roberto placed a hand on the dragon’s hide.

  “Don’t land,” he said. “Swoop as low as possible. I’ll be going in.” He tugged the rope around his waist. It held fast. He yanked the end on the saddle strap—firm too.

  The other green dragons scattered to make space as Roberto’s green swooped toward the short alley. Roberto peered down. The sunny patch where he’d seen Ezaara was empty. His stomach lurched. By the dragon gods, where was she?

  “Along there,” said the dragon.

  Roberto squinted. There, ahead in the shadows, was Ezaara, clashing swords with Simeon. She was valiantly parrying his blows, but he had her up against a wall. It was only a matter of heartbeats.

  Roberto melded. “I’m going in now. Brace for impact.” Removing his hand from the dragon’s hide, he flung his leg over the saddle and, feet first, slipped off the dragon’s side.

  Roberto fell through the air, his stomach shooting into his throat as the rope spooled out. He clenched his teeth, absorbing the jolt of the rope. The dragon faltered with the impact, then leveled out again.

  So far, Simeon hadn’t noticed him. Perfect. If only the dragon would fly a little higher. He wished he could mind-meld with her. As if she’d sensed his thoughts, the dragon lifted. Roberto pulled his feet to his chest as he swept along the alley.

  Ahead, Simeon batted Ezaara’s blade aside and drove his sword toward her heart.

  The dragon sped. Roberto thrust his feet out, slamming Simeon’s shoulder and knocking him to the cobbles.

  “Ezaara, run!”

  A wave of her relief washed over him. She bolted down the alley toward its mouth, just behind Roberto still swinging from the rope.

  “Follow us,” he melded, hoping the dragon would lead them somewhere safe. They turned the corner, a flurry of wingbeats and the clatter of arrows echoing behind them as the green guards sprang into action.

  Crystal Lake

  Roberto swung through the alleys, suspended on the rope from the dragon’s saddle strap. The green slowed as she negotiated the corners, the buildings’ stone faces looming and receding with each swing of the rope. Ezaara pounded the cobbles behind them, the dragon slowing her pace to make sure she could keep up.

  Blood was smeared on her throat and her jerkin was disheveled.

  “Are you hurt?” Roberto asked her.

  “Not badly, just shaken up. Oh, gods, it was awful.”

  Her exhaustion hit him, making him want to cradle her in his arms and shut out the world. Gods, this was horrible. Their love was so new, so tender…

  He caught snatches of her chaotic thoughts: Simeon’s face leering; his ugly gaze ogling her body; Bruno’s harsh threats; the paralysis that had consumed her, made her helpless; her sense of powerlessness; her horror.

  Icy fury swept through Roberto. If he caught those two, he’d personally gut them. He tried to shelter Ezaara from his rage, and only send her loving thoughts, but his anger leaked through the wall he tried to build around it.

  She needed love and protection, not a man bent on vengeance and violence. He reigned his emotions in. “So those conniving shrot heaps survived the Wastelands. We should’ve planned for that. Should’ve known someone else would.”

  “We couldn’t have known. The only way we survived was by having Ithsar help us escape.”

  The alley they were in opened into the deserted piazza with the sea dragon fountain. It sickened Roberto to think he’d been sitting here while Simeon… His rage boiled over again.

  The green dragon descended, lowering the rope until Roberto’s boots slapped the cobbles. Before he could untie the rope, Ezaara rushed into his arms.

  He held her, murmuring into her hair, “It’s all right. You’re safe now. We’ll catch them and bring them to justice.”

  Gods, if anything had happened to her, anything…

  How had Ezaara wormed her way so deep into his soul that just the thought of lo
sing her left him adrift? After his father’s betrayal and abuse, he’d protected himself, built an impenetrable wall around his emotions for years, letting only Erob and Adelina in.

  Until Ezaara. This beautiful woman, trembling in his arms.

  Oh gods, why had he left her alone? “I’m sorry, Ezaara. I should’ve stayed with you.” Roberto shook his head and held her tight. He kissed her forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He untied the rope from around his waist. The dragon flew over and settled next to the fountain. His arm around her, Roberto led Ezaara to the water spray and cleaned up the blood on her neck.

  She was right: it was only a scratch, but it had bled a lot.

  Ezaara gave him a wan smile. “Necks and faces bleed easily because of all the blood vessels. It’s not too bad.” She passed him some salve from her healing pouch.

  “No,” he said, “Pass me the piaua. I don’t want you wearing Simeon’s scars.” He’d do anything to erase the harm done to her—emotional and physical.

  She fumbled in her pouch and passed him the vial. “There’s not much left. Use only a drop, Roberto. Ma doesn’t have much at the hold.”

  She wasn’t putting up a fight, which showed how much she wanted to be rid of it, too. Roberto applied the juice gently. “Anywhere else?”

  “M-my head.” She gingerly touched the back of her hair.

  “Let me see.” He parted her blonde tresses. There was a bloody welt on the back of her head.

  Wind ruffled Roberto’s hair as Erob descended into the piazza, Zaarusha on his tail, and landed on the far side of the fountain. Ezaara rushed around to Zaarusha, flinging her arms around the queen’s neck. From their body language, Roberto knew they were mind-melding, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying—very odd.

  He tried to mind-meld with Ezaara. “Are you—?” No luck again.

  “Erob?” Again, nothing.

  Roberto strolled around the fountain to his dragon and scratched the warm scales on his nose.

  “This morning must’ve been terrible for Ezaara,” Erob said.