As far-fetched as it seemed, it was plausible under the circumstances and aligned with what Erob had told Antonika. “Not a very likely story. How did you survive?”
“Fish and lake weed. We had plenty of water, but by the time I was ready to leave, my lungs were too weak to get out.”
“Why should I believe you?” Tonio snapped. “Why should I believe any of this?”
Amato lurched to his knees, clawing at Tonio’s feet. “Forgive me, Tonio. Please. I’m sorry about Rosita. I truly am,” he cried. “You knew me, the real me, before Zens caught me. I made sure your brother was punished by Master Taren for beating you.”
Master Taren, the spymaster who’d recruited Tonio in Naobia and brought him here to train him.
“It wasn’t in my nature to hurt anyone,” Amato whined. “Zens made me do it. It was Zens. I swear. I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am.” Tonio pushed Amato away with the toe of his boot. He would have kicked him if the blue guards weren’t present. “Back on your mattress.” He let ice slither into his voice. “You murdered hundreds of our loved ones. That’s unforgivable, no matter what your excuse.”
As Tonio turned to leave the cell, Matotoi butted his back. What did that flaming dragon want this time? Tonio laid his hand on the insipid creature’s hide.
“These are Amato’s thoughts while under the crystal’s influence. I can recall them clearly,” the dragon mind-melded, sharing a memory.
Sinister shadows swirled, goading Amato. Nasty whispers dogged his actions. He coldly calculated which Naobians he’d lure away from town in order to supply tharuks with slaves. Rosita’s face sprung to Amato’s mind, wreathed with shadows. Amato led her to an orchard where tharuks were waiting. The voice in Amato’s head laughed as Tonio’s wife fought, screaming and kicking. A tharuk slashed her cheek with its claws. Another kicked her in the stomach. The whole time, the voice in Amato’s head crooned, “Well done, Amato. Such a pretty one. Tomorrow, bring me more slaves.”
“Please, please,” gibbered Amato.
Cold dread snaked through Tonio’s gut. His palms broke out in sweat. He snapped mind-meld, staring down at the man sobbing on the mattress. It was hard to believe that this rider had once been the leader of the Naobian green guards and one of the best dragon riders in the South. Tonio hadn’t touched him or used any implements of torture, yet Amato was a mess.
“Pathetic,” Tonio barked. He spun and stomped from the cell, leaving the blue guards to lock up behind him.
§
After Roberto had kissed Ezaara, she’d fallen asleep quickly, leaving him to stare at the stone ceiling. Dark thoughts of his littling years nagged at him—surfacing now that his father was here, in the dungeons. He rose and pulled on his riders’ garb, stooped to kiss Ezaara’s hair, then made his way through the crowded main corridors and down to the dungeons. He encountered Tonio in the corridor.
“Off to see your father?” the spymaster asked.
Roberto nodded.
“I’ve just been there, but didn’t find out anything,” said the spymaster. “Mind if I listen in?”
“I’ve no problem with that.”
Tonio slipped along the corridor behind Roberto and hid in the shadows beyond Amato’s cell.
At the clang of the cell door slamming, Roberto’s father turned.
“Amato.” Roberto sighed, waiting for his father to stop exercising in the far corner. Even though his frame was almost skeletal, Amato exercised every day—and had done so in his cave under Crystal Lake for six years before Roberto had discovered him. “I have a proposition for you,” Roberto announced.
Amato’s eyes shone eagerly. Matotoi stirred, taking his head out from under his wing to gaze at Roberto, no doubt sensing the interest from his rider.
Roberto could be risking too much by sharing information with Amato. His father could easily use it against them. But then, his father had defended Leah in Lush Valley and Roberto and Ezaara at the cavern when Bruno had attacked. He’d hated his father for years. Been sure he’d never trust him. And here he was, about to throw this mangy dog a bone. A peace offering—a false peace offering. The rage simmering in his heart had never subsided. Still there, it had grown as cold as glacier melt, ice now surging through his veins. “Did you know Zens creates tharuks, not by breeding them, but by growing them?” he asked.
Amato nodded. “Yes, in huge tanks. I’m surprised he let you see that when you were in Death Valley.”
“It wasn’t on my first visit.”
Amato raised his eyebrows, but Roberto held up a hand, preventing any further questions. It was none of Amato’s business what’d happened when he’d been held captive by Zens again, recently. “Those dark dragons we fought in Lush Valley were also grown using the same methods,” he said.
“I figured as much.” Amato waited, expectantly.
Roberto wanted to pace back and forth, but he didn’t give himself the luxury of showing his agitation. He forced himself not to move a muscle, motionless, assessing his father. The moon-shaped scar beneath his left eye twitched.
His father’s gaze flew to it, showing a brief flicker of anguish.
So the brute felt remorse for whipping him.
Roberto steeled himself against any softness creeping into his heart. Amato hadn’t shown softness years ago when he’d repeatedly beaten him and Adelina. “That’s not the worst.” Roberto glared at Amato. Amato stared back. “Zens is now growing people.”
Stark horror crept across Amato’s face. “He’s an abomination.”
“An abomination you served willingly.”
“I had no choice. The methimium was too strong. It overpowered my will.”
Despite his own misgivings, despite the anger, despite his mistreatment at this man’s hands, Roberto nodded. “Numlock, swayweed, methimium… Zens’ tools are overwhelming. Including the tortured screams those dark dragons inflict on people’s minds.”
“What do you want? You didn’t come here to tell me a bedtime story, son.”
Roberto flinched. “Don’t son me.” He’d never be this man’s son again. Despite the physical similarities, they were different. Or were they? The methimium-induced shadow voices that had goaded him to kill Ezaara were probably no different than what had driven his father. Roberto had been willing to kill the woman he loved. Just like Amato had killed Roberto’s mother. He snapped himself away from that train of thought, vigorously spinning and pacing the cavern, despite his intentions not to.
“All those mages you saw in Lush Valley were grown by Zens, replicated from young mages who were kidnapped.” Roberto met Amato’s eyes. “And now, Commander Zens has Master Giddi.”
Amato tracked Roberto’s every movement.
Roberto stopped pacing, forcing himself to stand still. Forcing himself not to show any emotion before this monster. Chin high, he gazed at Amato’s dark eyes, so very much like his own. “We must destroy Zens’ foul work.”
Amato nodded. “I agree. And I know how.”
Before he could stop himself, the question shot from Roberto’s mouth like an arrow. “How?”
“There’s a secret tunnel into Death Valley,” Amato said.
Behind him, beyond Amato’s line of sight, Roberto heard Tonio’s sharp intake of breath in the shadows.
Amato’s eyes were bright. “If we can get past the Naobian pirates, I can take you into a hidden tunnel that comes out right in the center of Death Valley.”
§
Kierion slept longer than he’d intended. “A whole day and night,” Riona commented. “But at least you’re not fatigued anymore.”
Flaming shards. He rushed to the mess cavern and took a bowl of stew to a table in the corner. He dunked a heel of bread into his pepper stew and munched it down. Although the aroma was delicious, he barely tasted it, mechanically chewing as he planned how to find Adelina. Ignoring the babble around him, he mind-melded with Riona. “Who saw Adelina and Linaia flying south?”
“A blu
e guard on patrol. And before you ask when, the answer’s a few days ago.” Riona snorted.
“How did they know she was going to Montanara?”
“It’s the first city to the south, and the largest. It makes sense she’d go there.”
“She could be going anywhere. What makes you so sure?” Kierion bit off another chunk of stew-soaked bread.
“Honestly, Kierion. No doubt, she was searching for you. What would you do if your murderous father returned when you’d thought he was dead? Surely, you’d seek solace with your mate.”
His cheeks flushed. Of course it was only the warmth of the pepper stew. “She’s not my mate.”
“She will be when we find her.”
“Don’t be so silly. I don’t even know if she likes me.” But by the dragon gods, he hoped so.
Riona’s only answer was a chuckle.
“Kierion, mind if I join you?”
Kierion glanced up as Tonio seated himself. The spymaster didn’t have a plate with him.
Without any preamble, Tonio leaned in. “I still require your services. Return to Montanara. Keep your ear to the ground. We need to find a pirate to guide us through the Naobian Strait south of Death Valley. There’s an old pirate tunnel that can lead us to the heart of Zens’ territory.”
Well, knock him dead with a feather—that was a surprise. “I might already have someone who can help you.” Kierion picked up his bowl and slurped the contents down.
“Who is it?” Tonio asked.
“I don’t know if he still has a ship, or even if he’ll sail.” Kierion wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and stood. “Captain’s an ex-pirate and the leader of the Nightshaders in Montanara. He owes me.” Kierion pounded his fist on his heart and nodded to Tonio. “I’ll leave right away.”
Tonio stood too. “I’ll send a team of riders to Montanara the day after tomorrow.” He gave a terse nod and passed Kierion a heavy coin pouch. “Gold. One hundred golden dragon heads,” he muttered. “If this captain doesn’t have a ship, buy one.”
§
Tomaaz woke up in the dungeon corridor, still leaning against the rocky wall opposite Maazini’s locked cell. Inside, Maazini was slumped on the floor. In the flickering torchlight something yellow glistened on his neck. Shards, the wound from the arrowhead was oozing pus. Tomaaz leaped to his feet, yelling, “Guards, get me a healer, immediately.”
A guard rushed along the corridor. “Are you sick?”
“It’s my dragon.” Tomaaz sucked in a deep shuddering breath. “He needs a healer. Please send a message to my mother—” Tomaaz froze. The guard’s lip was curled in disdain.
“Your dragon’s to be executed at dawn,” the guard sneered. “Why would we waste a healer on him?” The man turned, boots thudding on stone, and strode off.
“Halt,” Tomaaz called.
The guard spun around. And raised an eyebrow.
“Please, I beg you to fetch my mother.”
“That dragon’s been turned. He’s evil now, just like those shadow dragons. He’d kill a healer or me or you if we went in there.” The guard stalked off.
Gritting his teeth, Tomaaz paced outside Maazini’s cage. He couldn’t abandon his dragon and time was running out—it would soon be dawn. He whipped his dagger from his belt and pushed the blade into the lock on the barred cell door, turning it. It was no use. Trying to force the lock would only break his dagger.
Flame it, Maazini was worth a thousand daggers. He drove the blade in and twisted. Nothing happened. He angled his blade upward. Pressed again. The lock clicked but didn’t open.
Down the corridor, guards muttered. Footsteps headed his way.
Tomaaz slipped the knife up his sleeve and leaned against the bars, crooning to Maazini. His dragon turned its head, snarling and baring his fangs. Maazini’s anguished scream shot through Tomaaz’s head, making his skull throb. Sweat beaded his brow.
Two guards strolled by. One snorted. “Trying to talk to that wild beast? You’d have more luck hunting for dragon’s breath in the snow outside.”
“Dragon’s breath?” the other asked as they rounded a corner. “What’s that?”
This time it was Tomaaz’s turn to snort. That idiot didn’t even know rare mountain flowers.
“Doesn’t matter,” the guard replied. “In a couple of hours that demented beast will be dead.”
Tomaaz waited until their footfalls had retreated, then, ignoring his pounding skull, he slid his knife out of his sleeve and angled it into the lock.
This time, the lock clicked twice and opened. Tomaaz gingerly pushed the cell door.
Maazini’s snarl rumbled through the cavern floor as he approached.
The pain in Tomaaz’s head nearly split his skull asunder, but he forced himself to focus. “Maazini, you’re feeling sick. Let me help you.”
Breathing labored, the mighty orange dragon snarled, narrowing his green eyes. He tensed his haunches, about to pounce.
If this was how he was to die, then so be it. He’d rather not live without Maazini. “Come on, boy. It’s me, Tomaaz.” Tomaaz forced the memory of them imprinting in Death Valley past the pain and screams, to the front of his mind. He closed his eyes, concentrating, and was instantly back in Death Valley as the powerful memory played out in his head. He shoved it into Maazini’s mind.
A chain rattled. The beast sprang out of its cave, blazing bright orange in the rays of the setting sun. Orange? Yes, and those were the same green eyes that had been peeking through the hole, watching over Ma. But how? A thrum ran through his mind. Warmth spread across his chest. A rush of energy enveloped him.
The folds of what had been saggy gray skin by the creature’s side were now orange. They flexed and spread into wings. The beast was a dragon. The thrum turned into words inside his head. “Thank you for feeding me those berries, Tomaaz.”
“I, ah—you’re a dragon.”
“And you’re now my rider.”
An image of him flying above Death Valley astride the orange dragon shot through Tomaaz’s mind. He felt like a mighty eagle soaring above the valley—free and powerful. “Whoa, that would be amazing.”
“It will be, when we finally fly together, free of this hell.”
With a whoosh, something rushed through him, making him want to dance and yell with joy.
Tomaaz opened his eyes. “We can escape this hell too, Maazini. Just trust me. I can help you again.”
Maazini thrashed, clawing at his skull with his talons. He tossed his head, spraying drops of blood. Fangs snapping, he lunged toward Tomaaz.
Gods!
He wouldn’t balk, not now. Tomaaz held his ground as hundredweights of dragon surged toward him.
Maazini’s fangs loomed. His cavernous maw rushed at Tomaaz.
Then the dragon bucked his head and snatched up his chains in his jaws. Twisting his body, he landed with his injured neck near Tomaaz. Chains still clenched in his fangs, he growled.
“Easy, boy.” Tomaaz stretched out his hand to touch Maazini’s pale scales. They were hot.
Maazini bucked his head at Tomaaz’s touch, rattling the chains in his jaws.
Tomaaz had to be quick. The guards could return at any moment—and Maazini’s grip on himself was tenuous. “This might hurt, but stay as still as you can.” Using his dagger, Tomaaz scraped pus and gunk from the wound.
Whimpers escaped Maazini’s jaws as Tomaaz dashed over to snatch up Maazini’s water pail. Tomaaz cut shreds off his shirt, dunked them in water and bathed the site, but still the wound oozed pus. He picked up the pail and tipped the contents over the wound, flooding it. Rivulets of water and globs of pus gushed down the dragon’s hide.
“Bring your neck down a bit lower.”
Maazini obliged, lowering his neck so Tomaaz could see into the wound. He squinted. That burrowing arrowhead had dug inside his dragon, leaving a deep channel through his flesh. A hand’s length into Maazini’s body, something yellow glinted. More pus or the arrowhead? There was o
nly one way to find out. “Maazini, this is really going to hurt.”
Tomaaz eased his dagger into the wound. Gods, the channel made by the arrowhead was narrower than his blade. He’d have to cut Maazini. He hesitated. Then he took a deep breath, climbed onto Maazini’s wounded neck, and hooked his legs around the dragon’s throat. Ignoring the growl building in Maazini’s chest, Tomaaz plunged his dagger into Maazini’s neck, and twisted it.
Maazini’s fierce yowl ripped through the cavern. Tomaaz hung on, driving the dagger beneath the arrowhead. The stubborn thing burrowed deeper. Gods, his dagger was nearly up to its hilt. Soon it would be too late. Maazini bucked as Tomaaz slammed the dagger into his flesh to the hilt and twisted, dragging the arrowhead upward. With a piercing screech, Maazini went rigid, every muscle in his body quivering.
“Great. Keep holding still, boy,” Tomaaz crooned.
Halfway up the side of the channel, the arrowhead caught. Tomaaz pulled his dagger out and pulled the wound apart to get a better look. Amid the blood flooding the wound, the crystal had caught on Maazini’s flesh. He inserted his dagger, but the thing was stuck. “Nearly there, Maazini. Keep holding still.” Maazini’s body trembled.
Maazini roared as Tomaaz sliced the sliver of his muscle that the arrowhead was lodged on. He speared the sliver on the tip of his blade and yanked the thing out. “Well done. We got it.”
The screams in his head died out. Maazini’s chains fell from his jaw, clanking to the floor. The dragon slumped, blood flowing from his wound, his mighty body shaking.
Tomaaz clambered off Maazini’s neck. Hands covered in his own dragon’s blood, he held the crystal arrowhead up to the torchlight. Its nose was pointed, perfect for burrowing into flesh. It had metal legs like fishhooks but more angular and much finer. They wriggled in the air, like feelers. Although the crystal was shaped like an arrowhead, it behaved like a beetle. Tomaaz peered closer. Silver lines, squares, and dots were laid out in a symmetrical pattern inside the crystal. Odd—as if the very stone were man-made. How in flame’s name had Zens created this thing?
He shuddered and wrapped it in a shred of his shirt so it couldn’t snag on his flesh and burrow into him, then he stuffed it in his pocket.
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 128
