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

by Eileen Mueller

  Eyes on Saritha, none of the women moved.

  “She’s asking me to put her down.” Saritha’s eye ridge twitched. She opened her jaws and dumped Izoldia unceremoniously on the sand.

  Izoldia sprang to her feet and smiled, bowing graciously—the last thing Ithsar expected. “Oh mighty fine beast of the sea, there seems to have been a grave misunderstanding. Please take two of these fine camels as an offering to appease you.” Izoldia gestured at the caravan.

  Those camels weren’t even hers to give. Ithsar should’ve known Izoldia would try flattery, given her fawning, pernicious attitude toward Ashewar.

  Saritha tilted her head and asked Ithsar, “Why would I want those camels? I’ve already had my fill of fish, and those beasts are stringy and not nearly as tender.”

  Ithsar spoke up. “Izoldia, those camels are not yours.”

  Izoldia’s head shot up so fast, Ithsar thought she’d break her neck. The orange-robed assassins shifted, eyes flying wide.

  Saritha snorted. “I believe your friends were so impressed by me that they didn’t even see you upon my back.”

  “You!” For a heartbeat, Izoldia’s lips contorted, then they smoothed into a smile. “Oh, Ithsar, I’m so glad you survived your terrible fall into the sea,” she said sweetly. “How awful of your mother to push you.”

  Now it was Ithsar’s turn to snort. She ignored Izoldia, addressing the assembled women. “I’ve tamed this ferocious monster from the deep. She’s my friend and a foe to my enemies. No doubt Izoldia has tried to lay claim to my lineage.” Misha and Nila gave surreptitious nods. “However, I am the true heir of Ashewar, our deceased chief prophetess.”

  Bala, at the front of the assembled assassins, shifted on her feet, looking everywhere except at Ithsar. Thut, hands still bound, glowered.

  “You’re a liar, a traitor,” Izoldia screeched, hand drifting to her empty scabbard. “You fought your mother. She hated you.”

  Thika pounced from Saritha’s back, her wings unfurling, and flew at Izoldia, scratching her arms with her claws. Izoldia’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Then she whirled and batted Thika away. Saritha snarled.

  All the assassins except Bala and Thut leaped into action, drawing their blades and surrounding Izoldia.

  The lizard flew back to Ithsar, panting and heart thrumming. Ithsar stroked Thika, crooning.

  Misha and Nila tied Izoldia’s hands together. The assassins led her and Thut over the dunes and tied them onto the back of their camels. The camels harrumphed and shifted their hooves in the sand.

  The remaining man turned to them, trembling. “Anything you want, anything, I’ll give it to you.” He gestured at the heavily-laden caravan and brightly-colored burdens stacked high on the camels’ backs.

  “The sea dragon thanks you for your kindness,” Ithsar said. “We apologize for the tragedy that has befallen your companions. You may depart in peace. Please, feel free to take your dead with you.”

  The man hefted his injured companion onto a camel and unhobbled the beasts. His hands shook as he waved farewell. “No, no. Thank you, thank you for sparing my life.” He mounted the lead camel and the caravan plodded over the dunes, leaving his dead companions behind.

  Ithsar sighed. “I didn’t want their bodies to be picked apart by vultures.”

  “That, I can fix,” Saritha replied. She piled up the bodies, and then incinerated them, dark smoke scorching the sky.

  A New Stand

  Saritha flew above the desert, dancing in the hot breeze. Ithsar’s hair ripped loose from her headscarf as they rode the thermals, lazily spiraling up on the warm air, then swooping down, making her belly somersault. Growing up in the subterranean caverns and narrow tunnels of the assassin’s lair, she’d never imagined such freedom. Even among the dunes, there’d always been hills closing her in. Flying in this vast azure sky with her hair whipping in the wind and the world spread far below made her heart soar.

  The assassins rode their camels, trailing between the dunes toward the oasis, as tiny as dates. In the distance, the oasis beckoned, the turquoise waters shining among the palm groves.

  Saritha mind-melded, “You did well back at that skirmish. We quickly stopped those bloodthirsty women.”

  “They only listened to me because you were there.” Ithsar sighed. “Once I’m back in the lair beneath the oasis and you’re above ground, how will I retain control? Bala, Thut, or Izoldia could kill me at any time with a flick of their wrists and a well-aimed dagger.”

  “You have a noble spirit. Count upon your friends to rally around you and protect you.”

  Friends? Up until now, she hadn’t had any. What part of persecuted and despised had Saritha not understood?

  They spiraled down to the edge of the palms and waited for the assassins to arrive.

  Soon the camels traipsed over the dune and descended into the oasis. Ithsar signaled for the women to tether the camels in the shade of the date trees near the water’s edge. The women moved with efficient well-trained movements, their muscles packed with power.

  “I’m not fit to lead them. Look how they move, how strong they are.”

  “You move similarly,” Saritha said. “You have the same strength and power in your frame.”

  “I do?”

  Saritha’s only reply was a chuckle.

  Ithsar remained on her dragon’s back between her spinal ridges, with Thika on her shoulder. She stroked the lizard absentmindedly as he nestled into her neck.

  Once the camels were settled, the assassins quickly fell into a disciplined formation in front of Ithsar.

  Ithsar’s voice rang out, “As Ashewar’s heir, I claim my place leading the Robandi Silent Assassins. We will break from tradition, so be prepared for change, and change with us—or be left like a tumbleweed to be blown in the hot desert sands without purpose or meaning to your existence.”

  Women shifted uneasily.

  “The first change I’ll introduce is that we need not maintain the vow of silence. Ashewar demanded silence unless it was necessary to speak. I expect to hear your voices, raised in speech, song or laughter. I suggest you now speak to the women on either side of you.”

  At first there was stunned silence, then murmurs flitted between the women. A nervous laugh broke out. Thut and Izoldia, hands still bound, glowered at her from the back ranks, Bala beside them.

  “You must show them they have no chance, or they’ll be forever scheming against you,” Saritha rumbled in her mind.

  “I know.” Ithsar gestured to Misha, Nila, and two other guards, who fastened Izoldia and Thut to the trunks of two nearby palms.

  Ithsar stood on Saritha’s back and raised her arms for quiet. “My mother used her power to maim and harm others. We’ve been trained, honed as weapons, to spill men’s blood. Ashewar pledged to hate men and honor women, yet you’re all aware of the suffering I’ve endured at Izoldia’s hands, suffering sanctioned by my mother.”

  Saritha roared, shaking a neighboring date palm. Dates fell from the tree, scattering around the dragon’s feet.

  Ithsar flung her arms out toward the desert. “There’s a whole world out there beyond this oasis. As your new chief prophetess, I’ve seen visions of our future. Visions that show us using our power to love, protect, and defend those who cannot defend themselves.”

  “Love is weak,” Izoldia snarled. Her sathir muddied, turning murky brown.

  Some women nodded, murmuring their assent.

  “What is weaker?” Ithsar called. “To hate the people who despise you, or to love them despite what they’ve done?”

  “Just like you loved your mother?” a slim assassin jeered. “Look where that got you.”

  Ithsar spun. “Just like I loved my mother. Despite her hatred, which destroyed her. Without love, there is no future. We will eventually destroy each other. I have seen this in a vision.”

  “How can you have visions?” someone called. “Your mother has the prism-seer under lock and key. No one can see a
vision without a prism.”

  A larger assassin, dark hair streaked with silver, interjected, “It’s uncommon, but not impossible. Some naturally have the gift of visions and don’t need a prism.”

  Ithsar nodded. “I’ve had visions since I was a littling on my father’s knee.” Some of the women scowled—no doubt, at her referring to a male. “I’ve seen terrible, dark dragons plaguing Dragons’ Realm, the land of the prisoner I released—Ezaara, she of the golden hair.”

  Startled gasps rippled through the gathered assassins.

  Ithsar paused, straightening her spine. “Yes, I released Ezaara and Roberto. I did not touch Izoldia. Although she threatened me, the strangers protected me. But my sathir shook the ground and a palm tree swayed, dropping a bunch of dates that struck Izoldia upon the head, knocking her out.”

  “I saw those dates and wondered how they’d fallen,” a woman said, awestruck.

  “That explains the purple bruise in the sky,” murmured another.

  “And the fierce wind that whipped our hair as we ran around the lake.” The women stared at her.

  “How is it that we missed your power?” one asked.

  Another fell to her knees. “I’m sorry we mistreated you.”

  Bala glowered, her hand drifting toward her saber. “You think you can fly back here, spin these lies, and everyone will believe you? You’re the useless spawn of a dead chief prophetess.”

  “And you framed me by putting poison in my sleeping alcove, convincing Ashewar I was a traitor.”

  Bala’s eyes blazed. “You have no proof.”

  “Oh, but I do. Saritha will show you.”

  Ithsar motioned Bala forward, and Bala swaggered over to stand near Saritha. Despite her bravado, her eyes nervously flitted to the dragon and her hands shook.

  The dragon bowed her head, and Ithsar slid down her side. “I need three witnesses,” Ithsar called.

  The women hung back, eyes darting to Saritha.

  “Come, be fearless. We are the Robandi.”

  Three women stepped forward.

  “Place your hands upon Saritha’s brow, and she will show you my memory of that morning,” Ithsar instructed.

  The women tentatively placed their hands on Saritha’s brow to mind-meld with her. Ithsar also put her hand on Saritha’s head, remembering yesterday morning. Saritha showed them Bala slipping into Ithsar’s sleeping alcove to plant the poison.

  One gasped, turning to Bala with venom in her eyes. “All these years we believed your lies about Ithsar,” she hissed.

  Bala lunged. In a flash, they had their sabers at each other’s throats.

  Ithsar motioned to the others to break them up. Misha and Nila dragged Bala over to the palm next to Izoldia’s and tied her up. Ithsar’s bones felt hollow. How could she command this band of bloodthirsty women?

  “Show them,” Saritha ordered.

  “Form a line before Saritha. It’s time you were introduced to her properly. You all need to witness why I have been called as your new chief prophetess.”

  Despite three women having just laid their hands on Saritha’s brow, for a few heartbeats, no one moved.

  “This challenge may be difficult, but for those who succeed, there are great rewards,” Ithsar said. Good, that had made their eyes glint in anticipation, even Izoldia’s. “If I, the least amongst you, can survive being thrown into the sea, overcoming my fear, and imprinting with a sea dragon, then surely you can greet that same dragon.” She waved her healed fingers.

  The woman with silver-streaked hair thrust her shoulders back and paced to Saritha, meeting her gaze. Alarm flashed across the faces of the others, but not wanting to be outdone, every woman joined the queue—except the three tied to the palm trunks.

  “Clever,” Saritha said to Ithsar. “These fierce women like a challenge.”

  §

  Saritha regarded her new rider, Ithsar—so much smaller than these other orange-robed women, but more generous and courageous. As Ithsar challenged these women to find out why she was Chief Prophetess, Saritha was determined to show them exactly why. To show them everything—much more than Ithsar intended. And to measure the mettle of every assassin in this dusty dry oasis.

  The women came, laying their hands upon her scaly brow, one by one. She sensed not only the weapon-worn callouses on their palms, but also the timbre of their minds and the nature of their hearts. She of the silver-streaked hair and finely-wrinkled skin bore no malice. But not every woman was the same. Some carried dark secrets in their hearts. And even without them touching her, Saritha could see that those bound to the trees burned with violent red sathir and a hatred of Ithsar that made her talons itch.

  When she saw dark dragons blasting Saritha’s majestic cousins of Dragons’ Realm with flame, the assassin with silver-streaked hair whispered, “How dare they!” And as strange yellow beams shot from the shadow dragons’ eyes and sliced through the flesh of riders and dragons, her blood roiled in anger and her other hand drifted to her knife. The woman muttered when green flame shot from the hands of mages on dark dragons—mages that all looked the same.

  And when Saritha shared the vision of the carcasses of dragons and riders strewn across the land, and the beautiful rivers and green pastures becoming a buzzing fly-infested swamp, and the towering snow-laden mountains becoming dry dusty gray slopes, the woman turned to face her people. “We must fight to protect Dragons’ Realm before it’s turned into a wasteland.”

  As she turned to walk away, Saritha touched her shoulder with her snout and mind-melded again. “Wait, sister, there is more.”

  The woman laid her hand upon Saritha’s brow once more.

  Towering sandstone rose above Saritha, waves crashing against its base. Spray misted her snout as she thrust her head above the surface to watch the tiny orange-clothed figures dancing along the top of the cliff. She and her sisters had heard the sharks in a rowdy feeding frenzy, demolishing the lone body of a woman who had fallen from the cliff.

  Saritha didn’t usually like to interfere with the affairs of sharks and men, but something had whispered that she should go forth and see what this fuss was about. Queen Aquaria had also heard that same something whispering. So Saritha had decided to heed the call.

  She yawned, the green scales on her jaw glimmering with salty water in the sunlight. At the top of the cliff, two figures fought, clothed in orange. They fell—more fodder for the sharks.

  She sank below the ocean, prowling the depths with her sisters, diving among the coral formations, keeping an eye on the surface. A woman with rotten sathir as black as night plunged into the water, thrashing, hundreds of tiny braids swirling around her face as she fought her way back up to gasp air. Saritha sensed the hatred burning in this woman’s heart, sensed the blood of many lives upon her hands, and turned away, diving deeper.

  Then something surged inside her. She spun, her tail lashing a baby squid.

  A slip of a girl was sinking into the water, holding a lizard, pinching its nose. How dare that girl torture this lizard—a distant land cousin to Saritha. Her scales bristled. She swam closer. Above, sharks thrashed and the scent of blood wafted on the current as they devoured the evil-hearted woman. Saritha meandered along the seabed, swimming among the coral towers and waving seaweed. Her siblings dived and frolicked, scattering schools of fish.

  What was that?

  That tiny slip of a girl was swimming toward the cliff.

  A shark butted her, dived, and butted her again, playing with its food. Saritha was about to swim away when she noticed what the girl was doing. Under the water, her legs and one arm thrashed, trying to keep her afloat. Had the littling only one arm?

  Curious, Saritha swam closer. The shark was speeding at the girl, who held her other arm high out of the water, holding the lizard aloft, trying to keep it from drowning. She hadn’t been torturing the lizard at all, but protecting it. And then Saritha felt the girl’s sathir as a rush of pure love enveloped the lizard, and the girl cried al
oud, “I’m sorry, Thika.”

  A shimmering radius enveloped the girl and the sweetest music coursed through the sea dragon’s breast.

  The shark reared out of the water and opened its jaws, leaping for the girl and lizard.

  Saritha surged to the surface and slapped the water with her tail, sending a spray over the shark. Opening her maw, she crunched the shark in half and tossed its broken body over her head to its companions, who devoured it.

  And then she plucked up this precious loving girl and her lizard in her jaws, careful not to hurt them, and sank beneath the ocean as her blood sang with joy. She had found a rider and her name was Ithsar.

  The assassin with the silver-streaked hair met Saritha’s gaze, her dark eyes shiny with tears, and nodded. Her voice was barely a whisper of breath as she said, “I pledge to follow Ithsar, the noble new chief prophetess, and will do whatever she requires.”

  §

  Each assassin had obviously mind-melded with the beast. Izoldia knew her turn was coming. As the knowledge settled in her bones, she was determined to use it to her advantage. This beast did not know that she was stronger than Ithsar, more worthy of owning a sea dragon than Ithsar had ever been. And she’d only have one chance to convince it. So, despite her bonds, Izoldia sat tall and proud against the palm’s trunk, and waited for the foul beast to approach. It paced toward her, its strong limbs rippling with muscle under its gleaming scales.

  Oh, to harness such a beast and use its power—she could conquer many more enemies than with her saber and a camel. Many more than with the entire band of assassins behind her. Why, this beast could fell men, villages, and armies with a swipe of its talons or the flickering flame from its jaws.

  Izoldia held her smile. Now was not the time to reveal her plans. First, she would earn this beast’s trust and reveal Ithsar for what she truly was—a deformed weakling.

  The monster curled its lip back, exposing gleaming white fangs, some nearly as long as her forearm. That runt stalked alongside the dragon, so close to those fangs. If only Izoldia could convince the beast to turn its head and snap Ithsar’s head off, then she could ride upon its back in her rightful place.