Another vision roiled through Ithsar’s mind—the same land she’d seen in her vision.
Instead of gleaming snow gracing the mountain peaks, they were brown and barren. At their feet, desolate sludge and swamp stretched as far as Ithsar could see. The oceans were clogged with dead fish and carcasses of dragons, and the waterways were green and stagnant, choked with waving tendrils of flesh-eating plants.
Ithsar pulled her hand back into the sathir bubble with a pop, clutching her stomach.
“The visions are upon me now, young Ithsar. I realize that for us to help prevent this awful fate, you must find us new riders among those orange-robed killers, fierce women with pure hearts.”
Impossible. How could she ever convince those bloodthirsty women to fight for good? She’d be slaughtered, cut down by Izoldia, Bala, and Thut within a moment of setting foot in the desert. “I’m only one person. One small, insignificant person.”
Saritha leveled her gaze at Ithsar, then looked at the queen. “My Queen, I’ll accompany her and ensure the job is done.”
The queen nodded sagely. “To prove their goodwill, these new riders must make a leap of trust: every new rider must throw herself from the cliff into the sea, just as you did.”
Ithsar opened her mouth to protest.
The queen gave a flick of her tail, scattering a school of brown fish. “Do not fail me or you’ll be failing the whole of Dragons’ Realm.”
Ithsar snapped her jaw shut and nodded.
“Good,” said the queen, stirring. “My beloved dragons, our fate and the fate of our lands are in the hands of a chosen few. Ithsar is one. Zaarusha’s rider, the golden-haired girl, is another. There is yet another.”
She gestured Ithsar to lay her hand upon her snout.
Ithsar saw an older man with dark hair, a goatee and extraordinarily-bushy eyebrows standing in a forest. His gaze was piercing, his stature, tall, and he wore a forest-green cloak. Green flame danced at his fingertips. A mage, then. “Who is he?”
“The dragon mage, Master Giddi. Years ago, he saved my life. Aid him in any way you can and send him my greetings. His role in this war is essential, but without your support he will fail, and Dragons’ Realm will be lost. I cannot sense more than that. Let this suffice for now.” Queen Aquaria turned and swam back onto her coral throne. “Bring forth the blade.”
A small green dragon swam from the assembled crowd toward the queen, something shiny flashing in his talons—Roshni’s ceremonial saber.
Ithsar’s fingers tingled as they passed through the bubble and grasped the hilt. She would use this saber to honor Roshni.
Queen Aquaria’s golden eyes glowed. “Swear you will never use this for cruelty or revenge, only to protect the downtrodden and the weak.”
“I swear.” Ithsar pounded her heart with her hand, her head reeling.
“Good. Revenge will never bring you happiness,” the queen said.
Ithsar didn’t want to go back. She wanted to flee the assassins, never visit the oasis again, but now she had no choice.
A weight settled upon her, like a thick blanket warding off the bitter cold of the desert night—but heavier, much heavier. The weight sank down through her flesh and settled in her bones. She had to face Izoldia and the other assassins. If Dragons’ Realm were to survive, she had no choice.
Bloody Trail
Wings dripping and seaweed dangling from her foreleg, Saritha burst from the Naobian Sea with Ithsar upon her back. The bubble around Ithsar popped and fresh air rushed into her lungs. She hadn’t even noticed that the air she’d been breathing had grown stuffy and thin, until she was above the surface. The orange sandstone cliffs rose above them—so impossible to scale when she’d been drowning and holding Thika. The blood in the sea had dissipated. The only thing left of Ashewar and Roshni was a shred of orange fabric floating on the sea. As Ithsar watched, a wave crested and swallowed the cloth, dragging it under. Ithsar shut her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. When she opened them, the orange sandstone was rushing past them as Saritha ascended.
Thika curled his tail around her neck and spread his little wings, drying them in the breeze.
“Who would have known you could sprout wings?” She scratched his nose. His wings fluttered and slid back into the tiny slits in his scales. “Now you look like a normal lizard again, but I always knew you were special.” He nuzzled her cheek.
Saritha crested the cliff and landed, puffs of tangerine sand stirring at her feet. She held her snout up, nostrils flaring, scenting the breeze. “I smell fresh blood.”
A dark satin marred the sand amid scuffed footprints, and splatters of blood led from the stain to the cliff’s edge. More blood than just the sacrificial goat had been spilled here today. “Someone’s been killed. It looks like they were thrown into the sea.”
There was no doubt in Ithsar’s mind that Izoldia had murdered someone. But who? “Stay here.” Ithsar popped Thika on Saritha’s back, slipped off the sea dragon and dropped to the scorching sand. She hopped from foot to foot. If only she had yokka to protect her feet.
“Come here, my littling.” Saritha thrummed.
“I’m hardly a littling. If I’m to rally my people for more riders, perhaps you should find another term of endearment.”
“But you’re such a small slip of a thing to fill such large yokka,” her dragon replied.
“You know the name of our footwear?”
Saritha dipped her head in a nod. “Littling will do until your feet have grown.”
“I never knew sea monsters could be so cheeky.”
Saritha disentangled the seaweed from her foreleg, and held it in her jaws. “Wrap this around those tiny feet, my littling. And, by the way, I told you: I’m not a monster. Sea dragon is the correct term.”
“If you’re going to be so cheeky about my size, perhaps monster will do,” Ithsar said as she sat and wrapped the weed around her scorched feet.
A low throaty rumble echoed from Saritha’s throat and skittered through the dragon’s belly.
“You’re laughing!” Ithsar tilted her head. “I never knew dragons could laugh.”
“Yes, my littling, monsters laugh too.”
Littling? Hah. Ithsar slugged Saritha’s foreleg and sprang to her feet. Although her dragon had tried to distract her from the bloodstain, it was time to face what had happened while she’d been gone. The seaweed wouldn’t last long—the hot desert sand would soon dry out its moisture and it’d become brittle. She stalked along the bloody trail and followed it to the stain.
So much blood. It had gushed freely and stained the sand dark crimson. Someone had definitely died here—especially with that awful trail to the cliff’s edge. Ithsar knelt and examined the bloody sand. The blood was dry, but that didn’t mean much—the hot desert sand would dry out warm blood in a heartbeat. Silver glinted among the red-caked sand. Ithsar picked up strands of silver hair coated in blood.
Her other hand flew to her mouth and her belly tightened. “No. Not Drida.” Had Drida paid with her life for helping her? Ithsar swayed and sank to her haunches, dizzy. No…
Saritha pounced, landing beside her. “You need nourishment. We must find these murderous vipers, but you’ll collapse without food in your belly.”
“You’re right. I’ve barely eaten in two days.” Gods, oh gods, was Izoldia going to destroy anyone who got close to her, anyone who tried to help her? If she tried to recruit more riders, would Saritha be in danger too?
The dragon flew off and returned with a flapping silver fish in her maw. She tossed the fish into the air, speared it on a talon, then breathed fire over it. The aroma of roasting fish made Ithsar’s mouth water. “I’ll just cool it, so it won’t burn your fingers or mouth.” Saritha leaped into the air and flew a circle around Ithsar before landing and proffering the fish.
Ithsar bit into the succulent flesh, juice running down her chin. “Oh, this is good.”
“One of my favorites. I scoffed a couple too.” Saritha exten
ded a foreleg.
Ithsar clambered up, reaching up to grasp her spinal ridge. “It’s much easier to climb onto your back in the water.”
“Everything is easier in water,” Saritha replied, cocking her head and gazing at the desert. “Especially hunting and swimming. I don’t see any tasty fish flapping their fins around here. Or any water to swim in.”
“Don’t worry, at the oasis we have a lovely big lake.”
“Any fish?”
“Small ones.” Such a huge beast wouldn’t survive on oranges, dates, and couscous. “But we have goats. They’re quite tasty and have none of those nasty scales that get caught in your teeth.”
“Nasty scales?” Saritha bristled, her own scales standing on end. “I think scales are beautiful.”
“Yes, of course, so do I,” Ithsar replied hurriedly as Thika nestled inside her tattered robes against her belly. “Especially the way the sun makes your emerald scales glisten with silver.” Then she realized what her dragon was doing. “You distracted me again.”
“I don’t like seeing you sad about your friend dying.” Saritha sprang into the air. “I spotted camel tracks when I was cooling your fish. Let’s hunt down those murderers.”
The breeze of Saritha’s wingbeats fanned Ithsar’s face, a change from the stifling heat of the desert air. Now all she had to do was hunt down her archenemy, and convince a band of highly-trained bloodthirsty assassins to join her in defending Dragons’ Realm. Dread pooled in Ithsar’s stomach as they swept over the dunes, following the camel tracks across the shimmering tangerine sands.
Coldblooded Attack
To Izoldia’s left, camel tracks led up over a dune. A thin trail of smoke rose up into the blazing sky. Good. Someone was making camp. With her hand upheld, she motioned her band of assassins to stop. She shaded her hand over her eyes against the mid-morning sun as the women silently dismounted and hobbled their camels. Izoldia motioned Thut to watch the others and make sure no one slipped off. Although she had them under control for now, it would only take a few to rebel for that control to slip. Tonight, she would make sure any dissent was extinguished.
Izoldia and Bala sneaked up the dune, slithering the last camel length on their bellies, and peeked over the top. Bala’s eyes glinted and her teeth flashed in a fierce grin. Izoldia licked her lips as she gazed down at their prey. In a hollow between the dunes, six men were seated around a bed of smoldering coals, heating a steaming pot. A large, dark-bearded man with a yellow headdress took the pot and tipped a thick brew of tea into the waiting mugs of the others. Behind them was a caravan of twenty camels, still hobbled, their backs heavily laden with goods. The rolled tents tied to their beasts’ backs suggested that these men had stopped for the night and were ready to head out again after a lazy morning.
What luck. Six men and such a fine caravan laden with goods. A great way to start her reign.
Izoldia and Bala slithered backward on their stomachs until they were hidden from view, then Izoldia motioned to the assassins with a series of quick hand signals.
A third of the assassins headed around the dune and sneaked up the left flank of the hill, a third took the right, and the rest made their way up to join Izoldia and Bala. When they were all a camel length from the top, Izoldia gave a quick flick of her hand, which each woman repeated, sending the message rippling along the ranks. As one, they slid their sabers from their scabbards and rose. They crested the dune and charged downhill, the only sound the rustle of the robes and their feet on the shifting sands.
The man with the yellow headdress and dark bushy beard cried out, dropping his mug, the dark contents splattering his white robes. His companions leaped to their feet. Four of the men drew sabers and faced them, while two raced to their camels, desperately yanking at the hobbles. The assassins swarmed past the hot coals and were upon the men in moments.
Izoldia gave a feral snarl and slashed her saber across the big man’s face, laughing as blood sprayed over the sands, coating her hands.
§
The man’s yellow headdress was drenched in red. Misha was aghast at the blood, her stomach roiling. Although she’d been raised to fight with these assassins, she’d usually found excuses to stay back at the oasis by tending someone in the healing cavern, volunteering for kitchen duty, making meals, or feigning illness. It had escaped Ashewar’s attention, but she knew Izoldia had noticed.
Izoldia’s saber plunged into the man’s gut and he fell to his knees. Their new chief assassin’s grin made Misha even more nauseous.
At her back, Nila whirled to fend off a man, her blade scraping against his saber. Misha slashed her saber halfheartedly at another, disarming him in a heartbeat.
“No, p-please, I have ch-children,” he gibbered.
No, not more children left orphaned at these women’s hands. Misha pretended to stumble—and let him run. Thut lunged past her, saber slashing another man’s calf, and raced after him. The short man’s paces were no match for Thut’s long legs. She caught up to him easily, and plunged a dagger into his back.
His body hit the sand, a red stain spreading across his white robe. Misha’s knees wobbled.
Nila squeezed her hand, then dropped it, glancing around. “Stay standing,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “I think Thut’s onto you.”
Thut kicked the dead man over. His unseeing eyes stared up at the lapis sky.
Thut growled, “You two, come here.”
For the hundredth time, Misha wished she were a bird and could fly away from the oasis, these awful assassins, and this terrible life. She mustered up as much bravado as she could and swaggered across the sand, Nila at her side. As they neared the man, she gave a disdainful sneer at his prone figure and nudged his body with her boot. At least his wound was against the sand now, the blood no longer glaring at her.
“You two were too slow,” Thut growled, eyes glinting as she twirled her dagger, scattering droplets of the man’s blood. “You have a weak stomach, don’t you, you coward?” She glared at Misha. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you skiving off and missing the action. Let’s see how you enjoy this.” She plunged her dagger downward and ripped open the man’s belly. His pale, steaming entrails spilled over the hot sand.
Misha fell to her knees, retching. Nila reached down to comfort her. But another dagger flashed in Thut’s hand, aimed at Nila. “Leave the weakling. We don’t need her. Izoldia asked me to kill her in her sleep tonight anyway. This’ll save me the job.”
Saber out, Nila lunged at Thut. Thut parried, the sun glinting on her flashing blade.
The earth shook. A spray of sand flew over them, pelting them like gnats. Flame surged overhead.
A giant beast had landed, jolting the sand and making it shift between Misha’s knees. The green-scaled monster bared fangs the length of her forearm, flame dripping from its jaws. It snarled, sending shivers down Misha’s spine.
Ashewar, Roshni, and Ithsar had not been enough to satisfy the hunger of this mighty sea monster. It had come for them. With trembling hands, Misha stood and drew her saber. Nila and Thut flanked her, their fight forgotten as they faced the wild beast with billows of sand clouding around its taloned feet.
§
Ithsar frowned. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. There was an agonizing shudder of sathir in the desert below them. Screams rent her ears. Someone had just died a violent death. The mighty sea dragon beat her wings upon the hot desert wind, speeding over the dunes. Ithsar strained her eyes. It was difficult to see the Robandi Silent Assassins’ orange robes against the sand below; however, their hobbled camels, a large caravan, and the bloody bodies of men who’d been slaughtered were all too clear. The clash of sabers rose on the air.
A short distance from the main fight and the men’s smoldering campfire, Thut was attacking Nila and Misha.
Ithsar gasped. “Saritha, over there. Save those women.”
Saritha swooped between the dunes and landed, showering sand over the assassins. She roared, shoot
ing a jet of flame over Thut’s head. Thut dropped her dagger, gaping. Misha leaped up and snatched her saber, tossing it to Nila.
Nila shoved it under Thut’s ribs. “Hands up. Misha, grab some rope and bind her.”
Misha dashed to the caravan of poor camels, who were bleating at the chaos, and sliced a length from a lead rope, then raced back to bind Thut’s hands.
Ithsar whirled. “Look, Saritha.”
Izoldia was chasing a man, tufts of sand spraying up behind her. He had no chance. She was faster, fitter. She drew a dagger and raised her arm to throw. Saritha swooped and knocked her to the sand with her foreleg. Cursing, Izoldia rolled to her feet and threw her dagger at Saritha’s belly. Saritha twisted aside, and blasted fire at the dagger until the wooden hilt burned and the blackened blade dropped to the sand. The sea dragon roared, swooped, and snatched Izoldia in her jaws.
Croaky screams issued from assassins who hadn’t spoken in months. They stared skyward, faces rippling with shock and horror. One of the men bellowed in fear, raising his arms in supplication, then fell to his knees.
“I am rather awe-inspiring, you know,” Saritha quipped, landing and sending a spray of sand over the smoking fire pit. Izoldia’s kicking legs and thrashing arms hung out of either side of her jaw. The burly assassin was still cursing. Saritha gave her a rough shake.
Four men were dead and another’s calf was bleeding and his shoulder stabbed. Only one man was unharmed. Ithsar shook her head. How was she supposed to convince these bloodthirsty women that they should trust sea monsters and defend the dragon riders in the North? It would be impossible.
“Shall I finish this miserable wretch now?” Saritha mind-melded, shaking Izoldia again.
Although Ithsar wanted nothing more than to see Izoldia dead, Queen Aquaria’s words rang in her mind: revenge will never bring you happiness. She sighed. “Saritha, we shouldn’t act in anger or for revenge.”
“Put me down, you great, galumphing, ugly beast,” Izoldia yelled, waving her arms at the assassins. “Attack! Kill this beast and free me from its jaws.”
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 163
