The men laughed at his clumsiness.
Kierion mopped his forehead with a kerchief. “I’ll get it right, soon. Just wait.” He gave a forced grin, more of a painful grimace than a smile.
Fenni flipped all the nukils, double bounced them and caught them in a clatter. “What’s in your beer?” he asked. “Woozy weed?”
Kierion bared his teeth in another smile. “I’ll up you all. Double it. The winner of this round takes all.”
The tough sneered, “The fool wants to lose more. How about wagering the other dagger in your boot, pretty boy?”
“Pretty boy?” Kierion burst out laughing and looked pointedly at the man who’d fetched Gret. He didn’t need to say a thing. The whole table started laughing. Except the pretty boy, who glowered at him.
“Get on with round three,” Fenni snapped. “I don’t have all night. I have somewhere to be.”
The tough raised an eyebrow and grinned, as if none of them would be going anywhere soon.
Kierion gulped, a drop of sweat rolling into his eye. This time, when the nukils came his way, he executed a triple snap perfectly, pretending to look surprised as the nukils clacked into his hand. He spluttered and grinned.
“Fluke,” Fenni said, shooting him a cutting glance.
“Nice move.” Gret said, eyes shining with admiration. From behind her back, the flashy man glowered, cleaning his thumbnail with his teeth.
Nukils cracked and clattered as the other men took their turns. Flashy did a double snap, to maintain his lead, but then Fenni’s triple flip put him in front.
Flickering lamp light winked off the coins and weapons piled on the battered table.
Kierion needed respect from these men in order to work with them and gain information, but he didn’t want to end up dead in a gutter along Nightshade Alley. In his next turn, he performed a sideways snatch and rumbling roll. He let himself roar like a dragonet with new horns, earning a glower from Fenni.
“I suppose you think you’re a dragon’s prime catch,” Flashy snapped, “but try and beat this.” He attempted a triple roll, but fumbled it and the nukils scattered across the table and clattered onto the floor. He swore and plucked them off the floorboards amid raucous laughter.
Dragon’s claws, from the looks Kierion was getting from Flashy, he’d be lucky to get out of this alive.
§
With a quick succession of triple rolls and flying snatches so stunning they made Fenni’s head whirl, Kierion won the game. An angry uproar erupted from the remaining players.
Fenni had to get Gret out of here quickly. He stood, roughly shoving his chair over, sparks dripping from his fingers. “As I said, I have somewhere to be.” As he stalked past Gret, he stopped—as if she was an afterthought—and asked, “Care to join me?” He kept his face bored, impassive, raising a cool eyebrow at her.
She tilted her head at him. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Before anyone could object, they were striding from the tavern, Fenni’s arm possessively around Gret’s slim shoulders. He tucked her tightly against his side, wondering if he was doing the right thing, leaving Kierion alone. But he had to get Gret out before the whole bar turned to mayhem.
Two Nightshaders slipped out the bar door behind them, as silent as shadows, trailing them along the alley.
“We’re being followed,” he whispered to Gret. “We have to put up a good act.”
Gret’s only reply was a fake drunken giggle. She tugged him over to the side of a building, and leaned back against it provocatively, one boot against the wall with her knee up, arching her back so her breasts were raised to the sky. “Kiss me,” she whispered, eyes flitting over his shoulder.
By the flaming dragon gods, he’d wished for nothing else since he’d first met her in the stone corridors of Dragons’ Hold. But not like this. Not with some thugs watching nearby. Not as a ruse to prove their disguises.
She gave a low soft laugh, then whispered, “Hurry up. They’re watching.”
Fenni placed a hand on the timber above her, letting sparks flit from his fingertips, and leaned in, gripping her waist.
Their breath mingled.
“Come on,” she purred. “Let your flames roar.”
Although it was likely she’d only said that for the benefit of the onlookers, a crackle of energy rushed through Fenni. Flames licked from his fingertips, leaving charred marks on the timbers of the building wall. Blood pounded through his veins. He leaned down. In the flickering light from his flames, her brown eyes were wide, lips parted.
Maybe, just to keep up appearances…
He bent his head and brushed his mouth against her lips.
Once.
Twice.
Molten heat seared from his lips to his core. But it was her gasp, the sharp intake of breath against his lips that made something inside him unravel.
Gret reached up and twisted his hair in her fingers, pulling his face closer. Arching toward him.
Oh, Gods. Fenni, against all wisdom, closed his eyes and kissed her.
§
Gret had never kissed a man before. Never wanted to. But from the moment she’d first met golden-haired Fenni, green sparks dripping from his fingertips, something deep inside her had woken and whispered, “He’s the one.” She’d yearned to know how his kiss would taste. Yearned to run her hands through his soft hair and touch the planes of his face until she knew them by heart.
When he’d suggested she stay at home, away from the danger at the Brothers’ Arms, it’d rankled. Her father, proud of her swordsmanship and keen to help the realm, had encouraged her to go along. So she’d dressed to kill. The tavern had been packed with tharuks, thugs and Nightshaders. She hadn’t anticipated the reactions of those men, leering at her, making her feel unclean. Then Fenni’s familiar face across the room had anchored her.
But when that handsome Nightshader had kissed her hand and invited her to play nukils, an impish desire had seized her, and she’d played along to see Fenni’s reaction. Until the scummy thug had gone too far. Oh, she’d been a fool. She could’ve landed herself in dire strife tonight if Fenni hadn’t whisked her out the door.
Fenni claimed her mouth, heat searing through her body as his soft, soft lips moved against hers. His hand slipped from the wall above her head to her waist and he pulled her against him.
A jolt went through her. She opened her eyes and gazed at him in wonder.
Over his shoulder, something metallic flashed in the lantern light.
Gret shoved Fenni aside. Snatched her sword from her scabbard. And lunged. She deflected the blade aimed at Fenni’s back. The thug’s dagger clattered on the cobbles.
A crackle of Fenni’s mage fire cast the handsome thug’s face in a green glow.
“So,” he sneered, “our lady can fight.”
Beside him, the other thugs chortled. “Let’s see what else she can do,” one called out.
“Hands off,” the handsome one snarled, retrieving his knife. “She’s mine.”
Hunting Dark Dragons
Jael gripped Tomaaz’s waist as Maazini flew over the peaks of Dragon’s Teeth and swooped down toward Great Spanglewood Forest. The snow muffled everything except the muted swish of the blue guards’ wings on either side of them. For the past five days, Jael and Tomaaz and the blue guard patrol had been hunting for dark dragons over Great Spanglewood Forest. There’d been no sign of the beast that had fought them and killed Seppi.
As the blue guards fanned out over the forest. Jael scanned the trees and horizon for any traces of the beast. The eerie quiet of the forest made the hair prickle on his neck. Was it just the blanket of snow muting the sounds? Or was the forest stiller than usual?
He tapped Tomaaz’s shoulder. “Anyone hear anything yet?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know as soon as I have news. Lars only wants us melding in emergencies so the dark dragon can’t access our minds.”
“Makes sense,” Jael replied. “That beast was near Mage Gate.
Should we look there?”
“Good idea,” Tomaaz answered.
Maazini soared toward Mage Gate, the orange membrane on his wings a stark contrast to the snowy forest below.
“Maazini, let’s skim the trees,” Tomaaz said aloud.
Leaning out, Jael scouted the forest to the right of Maazini while Tomaaz checked the left.
“What’s that down there? That dark shadow?” Jael pointed past Tomaaz at a dark smudge among the trees.
So close to Mage Gate. Did Zens realize the potential of this area? He must know it was where the world gate had been closed. Jael had only been a littling when it’d happened, but the stories had been told for years around Naobian hearths. Stories about Mazyka, her tempestuous quest for power, and how Master Giddi had been forced by dragon riders to lock out hundreds of mages, including his own wife, from Dragons’ Realm to prevent Zens from bringing more tharuks in.
Not that it had mattered in his opinion. Zens had made more tharuks here anyhow.
“Maazini, can we take a better look?” Tomaaz asked.
Maazini wheeled around and flew back.
“Down there,” Jael pointed. “Underneath that strongwood cluster.”
Maazini swept down and landed by the riverbank. Flaring his nostrils, the dragon stalked the dark mass in the shadowy trees, Tomaaz still on his back, his bow drawn. Without melding, Tomaaz wouldn’t know what his dragon scented. Jael leaned around Tomaaz, hands at the ready.
Rays shot from the shadow, melting two holes in the snow at Maazini’s feet, illuminating the black dragon staring at them with shining yellow eyes.
Snarling, Maazini leaped back, then sniffed again.
“By the First Egg,” Tomaaz cursed.
The dark beast scrabbled its talons in the snow and raised itself off its haunches, only to stumble a few steps and crash to the snow, neck sagging. It flapped snow from its wings, revealing tattered, burned edges—the scent of singed flesh wafting from them. Jael wrinkled his nose.
“It’s another dark dragon,” Tomaaz whispered. “Much older than the one we saw a few days ago.”
“I don’t think so,” Jael replied. “That’s exactly where I singed the beast’s wings.”
“It can’t be. There’s no way. This beast is far too old. Look, it can hardly move.”
The dark dragon raised its head and coughed, a pathetic gust of flame spurting from its maw. The wrinkled, sagging skin on its neck wobbled, shedding dark scales, like flecks of ash, onto the snow.
“Maazini, do you want to risk mind-melding with it?” Tomaaz asked.
Jael placed his hand on Maazini’s hide, so he could hear through Tomaaz’s dragon.
A faint phantom scream echoed in Maazini’s mind. Even though it was quiet, it shot through Jael’s head like lightning.
Tomaaz shook his head. “That beast’s in pain. Its dying. We should put it out of its misery.”
Jael snorted. “You’re showing compassion now? After that thing fried Maazini’s mind and slit Seppi’s gut?”
“If it’s the same one, it’s only a shadow of what it was. We need to kill it anyway. I’d rather kill it out of compassion, than vengeance.”
“Very well. I’ll give it a funeral pyre, but I need a better vantage point than perching behind you like a littling craning its neck to see fire-sticks. Jael slid off Maazini and stood in front of the huge orange dragon. Not too far, just in case it was faking its feebleness.
He stretched his hands out, feeling the hum of the sathir inside him. Bright-green fire roiled at his fingertips. He pulled it into a fireball and bounced it between his hands, pouring in sathir until the molten ball was as big as his chest and blistering hot.
The dark dragon bucked to stand and staggered toward him, snarling. Its yellow rays seared a path through the snow as it picked up speed. It was surprisingly fast.
A screech shot into Jael’s mind. A wave of pain ricocheted inside his skull. He dropped his fireball to the snow, and it fizzed out. He clutched his temples, staggering. Oh, gods, the beast was lurching toward him. Jael dodged its yellow rays. They brushed the hem of his cloak, leaving smoking holes. The tortured scream of pain was going to split his head asunder.
“Look out!” An arrow zipped past him from behind and pierced the beast’s side. The wound only amplified the scream in Jael’s head.
Jael yanked his hands from his temples, flung them out, and blasted the beast with a crackling plume of mage flame. The creature’s hide caught fire. Green flames licked over its chest, up its neck and along its back and wings. It howled and twisted in a ball of flame. Then it slumped to the snow in a blazing heap.
At last, the scream in Jael’s head stopped. Panting, he stumbled to Maazini and clambered back into the saddle. They took to the sky, chased by the stink of burned dragon flesh and black, billowing smoke.
§
Maazini ascended through the smoke of the burning dragon. The stench of burnt flesh clung to Jael’s nostrils. Dark shadows flitted among smoke and haze. How much smoke could one dragon create? It went on and on, a stinking pall across the forest.
But something was off. The air crackled with tension. Jael leaned forward. “Can you feel it?”
Tomaaz nodded. “My neck’s prickling. Something’s hunting us.”
Out of the roiling smoke, two burning embers appeared, golden glowing eyes searing through the black. Beams sprang from them, slicing through the smoke and hitting Jael’s cloak.
Before his eyes, the fabric was sheared in half, the smoking remnants fluttering away on the wind.
Maazini roared, flapping his wings and sped up through the smoke into clear sky. Jael hung on to Tomaaz with one arm, flinging mage fire at the cloud-cloaked dark dragon behind them.
He missed.
The beast bellowed, opening its maw, exposing rows of sharp fangs. Fire belched from its jaws at Maazini’s tail.
Maazini snarled and thrashed at his head with his talons. He whirled, trying to escape the dark dragon’s flame. Its yellow rays shot out and scored the scales on Maazini’s tail.
Jael twisted in the saddle and flung more mage fire, but Maazini’s bucking threw off his aim. Every bolt went wide. His head was pounding again. Hooking his hand through a saddle strap, he leaned back and turned, aiming his other hand at the beast. By the holy dragon gods, someone was riding it!
As they surged upward, the last trails of smoke cleared from around the dark dragon.
Velrama—one of the mages who’d been kidnapped by tharuks—was perched upon the evil beast, her blonde hair whipping in the wind. The last time he’d seen her was when she’d melted a hole in her ice wall for him and Fenni to walk through.
Jael hesitated, not wanting to hurt the less-experienced mage, but the hesitation cost him. The rays from the dragon’s eyes shot forth, searing Maazini’s hind leg.
Maazini bellowed in pain, pivoting in midair to face the dark dragon.
Velrama laughed, flinging her mage fire at Jael.
Velrama was under Zens’ control—she had to be. Jael had no choice. He countered with a wall of flame that sucked the magic out of Velrama’s blast and consumed it. His head throbbed as Maazini charged toward the dark beast, talons out and fire blazing. The mighty orange dragon roared, his sides rumbling under Jael’s legs.
The dark beast snarled in reply.
Roaring flames split the sky as two blue dragons swept up from below and drove back the dark dragon with bursts of fire.
The blue guards chased the beast as Maazini swerved away whimpering.
“My dragon’s hurt,” Tomaaz said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Good idea,” Jael replied as Maazini headed back to the safety of Dragons’ Hold.
Jael’s hands trembled. Velrama wasn’t evil. If they’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, it could have been he or Fenni who’d been riding the dark dragon.
He fumed over his hesitation to blast her. It had hurt Maazini. What had he expected? He’d heard that Zens imp
lanted crystals in people to control them. It made sense. Velrama and Sorcha, who’d been kidnapped with her, were now riding Zens’ dark dragons.
Jael snorted. What were two mages and a few dark dragons against many mages and disciplined riders?
A tendril of doubt gnawed at the back of Jael’s mind. Those beams from the dark dragons’ eyes were formidable. What if Zens had something else up his sleeve?
Flashy
Although he’d used the pepper to induce fake sweat and fool the other players into thinking he was stressed, Kierion was really sweating now. Nightshaders shoved to their feet, knocking their chairs loudly to the floor. Their faces contorted into ugly, snarling grimaces.
Kierion smiled and plucked his weapons from the table. “I don’t need any coin, really,” he said, “just my weapons. Though, I’d love to play with you again sometime.” He sketched a bow.
The head tough’s mouth dropped open, as astounded as a dragon who’d laid chickens.
Kierion spun and strode quickly across the tavern, leaving the crew to fight over the spoils. As he pushed the door open, a blade hit the wood a hand’s breadth above his fingers, quivering.
The tavern fell silent as he plucked it out of the wood and turned to face the Nightshader crew. Their blades were drawn, eyes pinned him.
One false move…
With a casual flick of his wrist, Kierion sent the knife spinning over the tavern-goers heads and into the scarred table, right next to the loot pile. “Enjoy your spoils gentlemen.” He bolted out the door.
The clash of metal echoed through Nightshade Alley. A blast of mage fire lit up the gloom. Drawing his sword, Kierion ran.
In the next blast, he saw Gret fighting two men, another four attacking Fenni.
Kierion flew into the fray, sword spinning. He knocked a knife from the hand of one of the thugs fighting Gret, and then whirled to help Fenni.
The flashy, handsome thug was giving Fenni a run for his coin, ducking his flames, and lunging in to strike when the others distracted him. If he could lure the thug away, perhaps Fenni could fight off the others.
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 110
