Snarls ripped through the kitchen. The second tharuk lunged. Pain sliced through her calf as its claws raked her flesh. Oh gods, that hurt.
She scrambled over the bench, keeping her head low so she didn’t bump the wooden utensil rack hanging by chains from the ceiling. There, if she could get to the empty cauldron on a hook by the hearth, she might have a chance. But the tharuk was faster. It surged over the bench, snatched Kisha up, and sprang to the floor. Roaring, it held her aloft, shaking her body until her teeth clattered.
More tharuks burst through the doorway.
“I got one,” the beast roared, shaking Kisha like a rag doll.
Ithsar and her assassins surged, like a sea of orange, across the bodies of broken tharuks on the tavern floor, and through the kitchen doorway. Dodging claws, hacking with their sabers, spinning and slashing. Dark blood sprayed the kitchen. Tharuks fell among the bloody rain.
A slim assassin with dark curly hair launched herself off a bench, caught the utensil rack and, in a spray of wooden spoons, ladles, and roasting forks, swung her feet into the belly of the tharuk holding Kisha. It staggered and fell to one knee, still clutching her.
Women surrounded the beast, their sabers and daggers at its neck, belly and groin.
“Unhand that girl or die.” Although Ithsar was tiny, her voice rang with steel.
The assassin with the dark curly hair gave a wicked grin. “Die anyway, brute.” She plunged her sword into its neck. It slumped, dropping Kisha on the floor.
“I’m Nila,” the curly-haired assassin said. “Is this your inn?”
Kisha nodded and scrambled to her feet, breathing hard. “Yes, it is.”
Nila and Ithsar helped her into the taproom. Slain tharuks lay among broken crockery, blood, mashed food, and beer. A table was shattered against a wall with its legs upended. Broken chairs and wood shards littered the tavern, and there was even a tharuk whose head had been impaled with a chair leg. The stench of the beasts was overwhelming.
Kisha’s foot slipped in a pool of sticky black blood, but she caught herself before she fell. Aagh, she didn’t want to be bathed in the blood of those monsters. It was bad enough smelling them from here—a stench she’d put up with since they’d killed her parents.
Gods, how was she ever going to clean up this mess?
A tall, lanky boy about her age wiped his sword on a tharuk’s matted fur and stepped over it. “Hopefully, that’s the last of them.” He cocked his head. “Must be, there’s no more roaring outside.”
He was right. After hours of roars, the skies were uncannily silent.
Hey, Ithsar,” he called, “maybe our dragons have slaughtered those shadow dragons too.” He grinned at Kisha and held out a hand splattered in black blood. Glancing down at his fingers, he hurriedly wiped his hand on his breeches and offered it again. “I’m Stefan. Nice to meet you.”
It was absurd to be fussing over niceties when she was standing ankle deep in debris and dead tharuks, but Kisha shook his hand anyway, then burst out laughing. “And I’m Kisha. Welcome to the Lost King Inn.”
“Looks lovely.” He wriggled his eyebrows, grinning.
“Ah, Kisha, my sisters and the green guards require a place to stay. If we help you sort out this mess, will you provide us with a roof for the night?” Ithsar asked, as if she hadn’t already offered, and winked at Kisha.
The weight of a dragon lifted from Kisha’s shoulders, and air rushed back into her lungs. “Oh, thank you. Cleaning up would be rather daunting on my own.”
Katrine snatched up a broken chair. “Some of this furniture is beyond repair. I suggest we make a pyre in the courtyard and burn these monsters, too.” She quirked an eyebrow at Ithsar. “I’m assuming your dragons wouldn’t mind setting these beasts alight.”
“I’m sure they’d like nothing better,” Ithsar replied.
Stefan chuckled and grabbed up an armful of smashed wood. “I’ve asked Fangora to bring us more help.”
Outside, dragons thudded down into the square. The green guards landed, looking battle-weary and haggard. Orange-robed assassins flooded through the door. Everyone got stuck in, carrying broken furniture outside, dragging tharuks out by their boots and dumping them onto the pile in the corner of the square. They cleared bodies from the rest of the square and shoved the wood from Kisha’s broken furniture onto the mound.
Kisha threw some chair shards onto the hearth in the kitchen and boiled up a cauldron of water. Then, she and those valiant women and men scrubbed and cleaned until there was not a drop of tharuk blood left.
When they were finished, she invited all of the green guards, Anakisha’s Warriors, and the Robandi Silent Assassins to dine. “Tharuks have devoured all the food in my kitchen, but I don’t think they found my secret supplies.” Kisha peeled back a rug and lifted the trapdoor that led down to the cellar.
A couple of burly green guards helped her carry up some huge jars of pickles, eggs, a barrel of salted pork, another of flour, and some apple juice. With a few herbs and spices, she soon had a hearty stew in the cauldron and some flatbread toasting over the fire.
Although half the chairs and most of the tables were still intact, there wasn’t enough space for everyone to sit, so men and women leaned against walls and sat cross-legged on the floor. They used the inn’s entire supply of crockery and cutlery.
Once they’d eaten their fill, Kisha stood. “Thank you so much for ridding the Lost King Inn of tharuks and helping me clean up. My grandmother, Anakisha, the former Queen’s Rider, would be proud of you all.”
Ithsar stood, too. “I’d like to thank everyone for rising to the challenge of preserving this village. We thank Anakisha’s Warriors and mourn their losses.” She nodded at Katrine. “We’ve been lucky that we’re not mourning the loss of one of our own tonight. According to reports from Katrine, there are many more shadow dragons in the North. Tomorrow we’ll fight again. But tonight, we’ll rest and be thankful for the new friendships we’re forging.” Ithsar’s eyes flitted to Stefan and Kisha. “Long may our bonds last after these adventures. Long may we protect Dragons’ Realm.”
Assassins, warriors, and riders cheered and raised tankards of apple juice.
§
Later that evening, Kisha carried a stray chair leg outside and threw it onto the flaming pyre. The heat was melting the snow on the cobbles, sending rivulets into the gutters on the edge of the square.
Ithsar was moving among small groups of assassins, green guards, and their dragons, as they mended injuries and tidied up the square. Nila was tending her dragon, Nilanna, her slim form bent over its foreleg as the dragon held it up for inspection. Kisha wandered over. A deep slice scored the dragon’s flesh. Nila turned to Kisha, eyes bright, and blinked.
It looked as if the brave assassin was trying not to cry.
“Are there any healers in Last Stop?” Nila asked.
“Not anymore. Please, let me see.” Kisha bent to examine the wound. The dragon snuffled her shoulder. “It’s a clean gash. How did she get it?”
“From one of those yellow beams from a shadow dragon’s eye.” Nila winced. “She’s in a lot of pain.”
Ithsar strode over. “Kisha, do you have any of that special healing juice that Ezaara, she of the golden hair, uses?”
Kisha shook her head. “No. Tharuks have destroyed our piaua supplies and destroyed the trees. There’s no piaua juice left anywhere.” She cocked her head. “However, I am handy with a needle and thread.”
“Your dragon is in good hands, then, Nila.” Ithsar strode over to talk to a group of assassins who were gesturing at her.
Kisha went into the inn and retrieved a needle, some squirrel gut twine, and another broken chair leg. She gave the chair leg to the dragon to bite down on, and mended her leg with quick, even stitches.
When Kisha was finished, her eyes shot to a red stain blossoming on Nila’s orange robes, across her ribs. She was hurt—that’s why she’d been blinking back tears and grimacing, not only
for her dragon.
“Nilanna wants to thank you.” Nila gave a wan smile.
Kisha put her palm against the dragon’s warm, leathery scales.
A rumbling voice drifted through her head. “Thank you, Kisha, but I’m worried. Nila’s hiding an injury from me, masking her pain, thinking I can’t sense it. Would you tend to her too?” The dragon’s golden eyes blinked and she snuffled Kisha’s shoulder.
She nodded. “I’ll tend to her when we’re inside the inn, so she doesn’t lose face.”
“You have a good heart, young Kisha. A true heart, that of a future dragon rider.”
“I’ve already been for a dragon ride today.” Sort of—being clutched in Saritha’s talons might not count.
The dragon blinked. “You know what I mean.”
A sense of awe stole through Kisha. She nodded. “I do.” She’d always longed to be a dragon rider like her grandmother.
Kisha murmured to Nila, “I’ll tend your wound when we get inside. Go upstairs to the second room on the left and wait for me.”
Nila’s eyes shot to her dragon. “She ratted me out, didn’t she? And here I was, trying to fool everyone. What a tattletale.”
Nilanna snorted and twitched her tail, flicking the tip at Nila’s boot.
Kisha smiled and, together, she and Nila walked back to the inn, leaving the blazing pyre of carcasses and broken furniture crackling in the square.
§
Early the next morning, Kisha assembled a rough and ready breakfast from whatever scraps she could find in the cellar. It was strange, no longer having tharuks in the bar—a huge relief. Just yesterday she would’ve thought it impossible, now here she was, back in the inn, up at the crack of dawn preparing bread for her guests. She kneaded the dough and formed it into rounds to toast on the hearth.
The assassins and green guards rose and then bustled about, ferrying plates of dried fruit, pickles, jam, and freshly-baked bread to the tables.
Stefan wandered into the kitchen for the tenth time, swiping a dried plum as he picked up a plate. “Hands off, Stefan. You’ve sneaked enough,” Kisha said. “Make sure the food gets into someone’s belly other than just your own.”
“I’m a growing lad.” He winked. “But don’t worry, I’m feeling generous, so I’ll share.” He sauntered back out to the dining room, laden with trays and plates.
As Kisha was washing the dishes, an orange lizard with brown bands scampered across the bench, making her start. “Oh, no, you don’t. Not in my kitchen.” She caught the little fellow, who was nearly as long as her forearm. She’d never seen anything like it—the lizards in Last Stop were usually green and only the length of her finger.
Ithsar came into the kitchen, stepping between the flour-strewn benches and a half-full barrel of salted pork. “Oh, you’ve found Thika. That little scamp has been having a great time.”
The lizard ran up Kisha’s arm and nestled in the crook of her shoulder, rubbing his back against her neck.
Ithsar laughed. “He seems to like you.”
“Is he yours?”
“For many years, Thika was my only friend.” Ithsar scratched the lizard’s throat, then tilted her head. “Visions of destruction have been plaguing me all night. We’re heading north to battle shadow dragons. Would you mind looking after him for me? I’m worried that he might get hurt. Last night he kept leaping around Saritha’s back in the middle of the fighting. I’d hate to lose him.”
“Me?”
Ithsar nodded. “I’d be relieved if you could.”
“What does he eat?”
“Bugs, scraps of meat. He usually catches his own beetles or flies but, right now, it’s a bit cold for that here.”
Kisha fed the lizard a scrap of salted pork, which he gobbled down in a heartbeat. “He’s so sweet. I’d love to look after him.”
“Thank you.” Ithsar hugged her. The assassin’s warm, dark eyes regarded Kisha. “And thank you for your hospitality. I appreciate you taking care of Nila, too.” Ithsar shook her head. “She’s courageous, but headstrong, and takes risks in battle, so I suspect this injury won’t be her last.”
“I’m happy to help. Thanks for saving my life last night.” Kisha dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Are you leaving now?”
Ithsar nodded. “I fear we must hurry north, but I do sense that I’ll visit you again.”
Kisha swallowed and stroked Thika’s chin. Although Ithsar seemed to think she’d be back, any of these assassins or green guards could end up as shadow dragon fodder. Her mother had told her, over and over again, that her grandmother Anakisha’s demise had been quick, and no one had expected it. So, instead of pretty, flowery words, Kisha flung her arms around Ithsar and hugged her again.
Dragons’ Hold
The sea dragons and the green guards flew north, once again, casting their shadows over the land. But instead of gleeful children greeting them, terrified villagers ran to take cover. Ithsar and Saritha passed over charred farmhouses and ruined farms on the outskirts of settlements. People cowered under the eaves of barns or in copses of trees.
They flew on.
Soon they passed over blackened meadows and came to a village that was nothing but smoking ruins. Tharuks were milling around, hunting through the wreckage.
There were no other signs of life.
Goren swooped on his dragon, Rengar, to fly alongside Saritha and Ithsar. “Do you want to go down?” he called. “We could easily wipe out those monsters.”
“Let’s fry those beasts,” Saritha snarled.
And draw the attention of more shadow dragons that could be lurking nearby, stopping them from heading north.
Images cascaded through Ithsar’s mind.
The sky was teeming with shadow dragons. Yellow eye-beams sliced rider and dragon alike. Smoke and flame wreathed the sky, and more dark dragons poured over the horizon, blackening the heavens.
An overwhelming sense of urgency rushed through her. “No,” Ithsar called. “We must press north. Time is short.”
Goren thrust an arm at the beasts below, calling, “You’re wasting an opportunity. We should kill those tharuks.”
Although Ithsar’s chest ached at the destruction and the loss of lives below, and although anger surged through her veins at those awful beasts, she had to stay true to her vision. They had to help Ezaara save the realm. “These villagers are dead already. The shadow dragons in the North are a threat to everyone’s future.”
A scowl twisted Goren’s face, and Rengar wheeled away.
The further north they flew, the worse the destruction was. Charred orchards, crops laid to waste. Bodies strewn across fields. People camped outside in the snow, in makeshift tents made of blankets, their houses in blackened ruins.
Toward nightfall, Goren wheeled his dragon to fly by Ithsar and Saritha again. “See that haze on the horizon?”
A gray pall hung over a city in the distance. Nestled between two rivers near the edge of a forest that went on forever, the town was the largest Ithsar had ever seen. Bigger than Naobia. Roads snaked into the city with bridges spanning the rivers. Towering spires caught the late evening sun, and stone buildings several stories high sat beneath a backdrop of breathtaking mountains. Even further north, more fierce mountain peaks jutted against the horizon.
The city would have been an amazing sight if not for the gray blanket shrouding its beauty.
Goren pointed east. “That’s Great Spanglewood Forest.” Then he gestured directly north. “The city is Montanara. We should get there by nightfall. From there, it’s only a few hours to Dragons’ Hold. I suggest we stop for the night just north of the city so our dragons are well rested for when they face their next battle.”
Ithsar didn’t voice her fears. Visions had been flitting into her mind all day. If shadow dragons and tharuks had overrun the city, perhaps they wouldn’t get out of Montanara to fight the battle in the North. The only thing that mattered now was the urgent need to press on.
They flew
on, over the edge of Great Spanglewood Forest. Gaping holes had been smashed in the foliage. Trees were still standing, but some were charred to a crisp, dragon carcasses strewn at their roots.
As they approached, smoke rose from pyres in the surrounding fields, coalescing in a gray cloud over the city.
“They’re burning the dead,” Saritha said. “But I can’t tell if the corpses are friends or foe.”
The stench of burnt foliage and flesh hung in the air. A building on the outskirts of town had chunks of missing masonry. They swooped over the city. Walls were covered in scorch marks, and there were holes in a few roofs. Other snowy rooftops had gouges where dragons had landed, and some were splattered with black and red blood. Another pyre burnt in the town square, sending a dark smoky plume skyward.
The streets were deserted. The sathir that hung over the city was as gray and drab as the smoke that wisped over the rooftops.
Ithsar shuddered at the destruction and desolation.
Fangora flapped up. “The green guards said this is usually a thriving city with a vibrant marketplace,” Stefan said.
“Not today,” Ithsar muttered.
Saritha mind-melded. “Something’s wrong. This is the territory of the blue guards, so they should be patrolling the area, but we haven’t seen a single dragon.”
Had they all been killed? Or fled? Or abandoned this city and its inhabitants to their fate?
Ithsar shielded her dark thoughts from her valiant sea dragon. “How far to Dragons’ Hold?”
“The green guards say we’ll be there in a few hours, but Ithsar…”
“What?”
“The dragons are exhausted. And it’s cold here, and there’s nowhere to swim. Those stringy goats from Last Stop weren’t as fine as a decent feed of fish.” Saritha’s bone-weariness washed over Ithsar. “We can’t go on. Goren’s right. We’ll have to stop for the night, and then hunt in the morning, or we won’t be fit to fight.”
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 174
