“No one really understands how, but Erob just told me that Roberto and some young mages have destroyed the place in Death Valley where Zens makes them. They say if we can win this battle and kill Zens, the war will be over.”
“Now, that would be something to celebrate.”
Glimmers lit up the leaves in the forest below. The foliage was a surging sea of twinkling lights that swirled as squirrels scampered from branches, down tree trunks, to attack the tharuks. Tiny sparkles of light shot from the trees and wrapped themselves around a young dark-haired boy. He flung out his arms. Foxes crawled out of holes, biting tharuks’ legs. Wolves raced through the trees and flung themselves at the monsters. The ground seemed to surge as beetles and rodents swarmed Zens’ beasts. Even the trees bowed their branches, thrashing the tharuks.
“Spangles, Saritha! The boy and the spangles are rallying the forest to fight back.” Ithsar felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps they could win this war, after all.
The warriors surged forward, heartened, too.
But a huge tharuk roared, and the tharuk troops rallied, too, slashing through the woodland creatures and hacking them and the men to pieces with their claws.
Saritha dived, but it was hopeless. Ithsar couldn’t get a clear shot without hurting the warriors, and Saritha couldn’t risk flaming their people. So, they zipped back into the sky to kill shadow dragons.
To the south in a huge clearing, that strange beam of light still streamed from the metal chest she’d seen in her vision, piercing the sky. A dark-haired man with a goatee stood near the chest, with his head back, staring at the beam, his limbs and body frozen. He looked strangely familiar.
Next to the man was an enormous being, with bulbous yellow eyes and dark stubble over his head. Dark shadowy sathir wafted around this menacing man, filling Ithsar with a sense of dark foreboding.
Saritha flicked her tail. “It’s no wonder that man gives you a terrible feeling—he’s Commander Zens, the one who came through the world gate years ago. He created the tharuks and shadow dragons that are destroying Dragons’ Realm.” She angled her head toward the dark-haired man. “That is the man my mother spoke of, the dragon mage, Master Giddi.”
Now, Ithsar knew where she’d known him from—Queen Aquaria had shown him to her and said, “This is the dragon mage. 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.”
It was unnatural for someone to stand so still. “Why isn’t he moving?” Oh, by a thousand blazing suns, she hadn’t seen that. Sickly strands of yellow sathir wove from the dragon mage’s back toward Commander Zens. “He’s under Zens’ control.”
Saritha snarled.
The key to this battle was that metal box with the golden beam streaming from it. Although the sathir around the box was neutral, Ithsar was sure it could be used for good or evil—but there was no doubt which course Zens was choosing.
Hordes of tharuks, twenty, thirty, sometimes a hundred deep, surrounded the clearing, protecting their commander. Swarms of shadow dragons circled overhead, staying out of the beam’s rays, ready to blast anyone who got near.
“More shadow dragons are coming from the south,” Saritha said. “The blue guards have asked us to fight them.”
A Bright Flame
Ithsar and Saritha sped southward, flanked by Stefan and Nila, with Misha. Three Naobian green guards flew behind them. They charged across the clearing, avoiding the beam of yellow light that shot into the sky. The day was drawing to a close, but the fighting was not over.
A fake mage, male this time, fired an arrow at a blue dragon, and suddenly, the blue whirled upon a red, biting its wings. The red bit back and the blue slashed out and shredded the red’s wing with its sharp talons. As the red plummeted, the blue chased, flaming it.
“By the bleeding First Egg!” Stefan yelled. “What was that?”
Ithsar gaped as the fake mage kept firing arrows, and more blue, orange, green and red dragons turned and attacked each other, tiny trails of sickly-yellow sathir issuing from their arrow wounds.
“Zaarusha has told me that these arrows contain methimium implants, yellow crystals that can turn a dragon’s loyalty to Zens in a heartbeat. Ezaara was shot when she was battling in Lush Valley and only Roberto’s quick action saved her.”
“Methimium must be how Zens is controlling Master Giddi, the dragon mage,” Ithsar mused. When the fake mage raised his bow again, Ithsar shot him in the back.
They plunged over the foliage, blasting flame down at tharuks. Ithsar let an arrow fly.
A tharuk leader fell, trampled by its own troop’s boots as they marched onward, straight over the leader’s carcass, their large furry bodies breaking saplings and smashing through underbrush.
“Look out,” Stefan yelled. Ithsar spun in the saddle.
A cloud of shadow dragons blotted out the waning sun. Their dragons flapped, speeding through the sky to meet them.
Two shadow dragons broke off from the cloud and charged at Saritha, one on either side. Saritha belched flame, but beams from their eyes sliced toward her. She ducked the beams and shot upward, but the shadow dragons clawed at her wings. She furled her wings and dived, and then ascended again. The two dragons stayed on her tail, flanking her and blasting roiling heat. Their dark purple sathir enveloped Saritha and Ithsar. She nocked and fired an arrow. Another of those blonde female mages spun on her shadow dragon’s back and blasted a green fireball at Ithsar’s arrow. It disintegrated in midair.
She fired another and that, too, burst into flame and fell to the forest. A shadow dragon snarled, lunging for Saritha. Ithsar slung her bow into the crook of her elbow and hung onto Saritha’s spinal ridge and her saddle as Saritha reared up in the air, clawing at the dragon’s wings with her talons.
Another dragon behind them roared and latched on to Saritha’s tail with its fangs. The three dragons twisted and plummeted. Ithsar hung onto the saddle with one hand, snatched her dagger with the other, and flung it down toward Saritha’s tail. It plunged into the shadow dragon’s neck, but the beast hung on, its jaw clamped tight around Saritha’s bleeding tail.
Saritha arched her neck and roared in pain and fury. She flailed as the other shadow dragon locked onto her neck with its jaws.
A purple dragon angled through the air, speeding down, her scales glinting with a tinge of gold in the evening sun. Two young riders were astride her back, both blond; one tall, the other with startling green eyes and wearing a mage cloak. The mage raised his hands and a coil of blistering green flame issued from his palms, licking along the shadow dragon clamped to Saritha’s tail. The dark dragon roared, opening its jaws and releasing its grip on Saritha’s tail and plunging down to the forest.
Misha and her dragon dived at the dragon clutching Saritha’s neck, and the purple dragon and blond rider and mage dived off to help a blue being attacked by another dark dragon.
Zens’ mage shot fireballs from the shadow dragon’s back. Misha ducked, but the fireball glanced her and set her headscarf alight. Her dragon backwinged from the flailing, fighting dragons as Misha dumped the contents of a waterskin over her head. The air stank of singed hair.
Ithsar threw another dagger, the dragons’ screeches ripping through her head, but missed. A waste of a good blade. By the blazing dracha gods, if only she could let go of Saritha to use her bow.
Saritha yowled as the shadow dragon bit deeper into her neck. Her wingbeats slowed.
“No, Saritha, no!” A sob burst from Ithsar’s chest. “Come on, girl.” She tore her saber from its sheath and leaned out over Saritha’s neck, trying to slash the dragon, but her arms were too short.
A battle cry sliced through the air.
Stefan fired an arrow into the shadow dragon’s neck. And then Fangora was there, golden eyes blazing. He landed on the shadow dragon’s back, shredding its wings with his talons and ripping out chunks of flesh wi
th his teeth. Dark blood sprayed Fangora, Stefan, and Saritha. Fangora grasped the mage in his jaws and flung it from the dragon into the forest. Her body was speared on a massive pine and hung, twitching, in the treetops.
Fangora lashed the shadow dragon’s limbs with his tail. His strong jaws lunged into the shadow dragons’ neck and he crunched through bone. In a spray of blood, the monster’s grip on Saritha’s throat loosened and it fell away, crashing through the treetops.
A fate they’d soon share if they didn’t gain height.
More dark dragons dived. Misha, Nila, and the green guards wheeled to fight them.
Saritha was panting, her neck and tail dripping blood. Ithsar slid her bow out and fired an arrow deep into the belly of a shadow dragon above. And then another, and another. Her dragon’s sathir was shimmering, her waves of pain washing over Ithsar. “We have to get you to a healer.”
“Soon. First, we must fight these beasts,” Saritha muttered.
More shadow dragons dived at Saritha, fangs bared and snarling.
A mage shot a green firebolt at Misha, whose dragon shied away. And then Nila lunged in, her dragon attacking the beast with a plume of fire. Nila shot an arrow at the shadow dragon. The arrowhead buried itself deep in its belly. It roared and spun, beating its leathery wings.
Nila grinned. “Come on, you awful coward,” she yelled and fired another arrow.
It hit the beast’s jaw, but disintegrated in a burst of flame as the shadow dragon shot fire at Nila and knocked her from her saddle in a ball of flame. Nilanna roared and pounced on the beast, shredding it with her talons and letting out a mournful howl that shuddered down Ithsar’s spine, rocking her in the saddle.
Nila’s bright, vibrant orange sathir winked out like an oil lamp snuffed between a great god’s fingertips. Her body thudded through the trees and landed in a smoking heap.
Ithsar’s chest hollowed. Just like that, Nila’s daring, and her wild sense of adventure and fun, were gone. Ithsar’s bones ached and her head throbbed. Her throat tightened and a sob burst from her chest.
But there was no time to mourn her friend—a writhing horde of shadow dragons swept at them.
With a cry, Ithsar shot arrows into the beasts’ bellies, wings, and skulls. Saritha blasted flame, lashing wings with her tail, clawing beasts with her talons, a snarling mass of vengeance.
Beams from a shadow dragon’s eyes sliced at them. They missed, topping a tree.
The green guards, Stefan, and Misha fought, but Saritha’s sides were now heaving, her movements slowing.
“Saritha, we must get you to a healer.”
“I’m f-fine.”
Goren swooped in, waving an arm out over the forest. “Toward the east, there are healers in a clearing. Take Saritha there. That’s an order.”
Stefan flanked them on Fangora. They headed over the trees, but Saritha lost height rapidly, flying too low, nearly scraping her belly on the treetops. The blood from the fang marks on her throat splattered on strongwoods, turning their snowy foliage pink.
Ithsar swallowed. “I’m sorry, Saritha. I was too tempestuous. We should’ve stopped fighting earlier.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Saritha said, turning her head toward Ithsar, her eyes half-closed and wingbeats slowing.
“It does matter. You matter.” Ithsar choked on a sob.
Beside them, Stefan yelled, “Go, Saritha, we’re nearly there. Fly!”
His cry spurned on the queen of the sea dragons. She swept over the forest and landed with a thud at the edge of the woods.
A pale-faced young boy with lake-blue eyes rushed toward them, bearing a waterskin.
Ithsar slid from the saddle and held up a hand. “No, not water. Do you have any piaua? My dracha is badly hurt.”
His eyes round, the boy nodded. “Yes, this is piaua.”
Saritha’s head slumped to the ground. The boy rushed over and tipped pale-green juice from the waterskin, rubbing handfuls of piaua juice into Saritha’s gaping neck wounds.
“That burns,” Saritha murmured as her eyes slid shut.
Ithsar raced to her head and grasped her snout in her hands. “Saritha, it’s a good burn. This will heal you, just hold on.” A dark hole gaped in Ithsar’s belly, threatening to engulf her. By the dracha gods, Saritha had to make it. She had to. “Hold on, Saritha. Please.”
Saritha’s eyelids flickered. “Yes, Ithsar. For you, I will.”
Ithsar bit her lip, unable to tear her gaze from the wounds on Saritha’s neck as the boy slowly healed each layer of tissue, the muscle and flesh knitting together before Ithsar’s eyes.
Fangora thudded down beside Saritha and nudged her with his snout, huffing warm breath over her and Ithsar. Stefan dismounted and rushed over to the healer, holding out a mug from his saddlebags.
Ithsar bristled. He wanted a drink at a time like this?
“Please, give me some juice so I can heal her tail wound,” Stefan panted.
By the dracha gods, he’d only been trying to help. “Thank you, Stefan,” Ithsar murmured. Nila’s bright flare of sathir flashed through her mind again, and she was sure her chest would break in two.
Stefan reached into his pocket and pulled out a grubby package. “Here, Ithsar.”
As he dashed off to Saritha’s tail, she opened it and found a piece of smashed chocolate. Eyes burning, she jammed the package in a pocket of her robes, and tears slid down her cheeks.
Rampaging Tharuks
Ithsar ran her fingers over the new pale scars on Saritha’s neck. “Does it hurt anymore? Are you feeling weak? You lost quite a bit of blood.”
“No, it doesn’t hurt. No, I’m not weak, and yes, I’m ready to fight again.”
“I didn’t ask you that.”
“I know, but I’m telling you,” Saritha snapped. “For the sake of everyone we’ve lost today, and for their dragonets, eggs, and littlings, we must get back into the sky and win this war.” Saritha narrowed her golden eyes. “Are you afraid?”
“I don’t want you getting hurt again.”
“Ithsar, you’ve seen the visions. We must help.”
Sighing, Ithsar nodded.
“I don’t like to alarm you, when we’re so busy taking care of Saritha, but look.” Stefan pointed to the sky.
A dark ring of shadow dragons had surrounded Ezaara’s dragons and was growing ever tighter, herding them toward something. “Where are they taking them?” Ithsar asked.
“I think they’re being herded toward the clearing to that strange beam of light.”
“Then whatever we do, we must avoid that light.” Ithsar turned back to Saritha. “Tell the sea dragons we’re ready to fight.”
“I already have.”
The healer-boy brought them a quiver of arrows. “Our master healer died, so I’m working here, not fighting. I see you’re running low on arrows. Please, take these.”
“Thanks.” Stefan grabbed a handful and stuffed them in his quiver.
Ithsar took the rest of the arrows from the boy’s quiver and put them in her own, tightening the strap across her chest. Wait, there was something familiar about this boy. “Aren’t you the one who worked with the spangles against the tharuks?”
“Yes, I am. My name’s Taliesin.” He bowed. “Pleased to meet you.”
“There’s no need to bow to me.” Ithsar thumped her hand on her heart.
His serious eyes regarded her, their deep blue nearly piercing her. “Yes, there is. I saw you in a vision, and knew you would help us win this battle.”
He’d seen her in a vision? Winning? It didn’t feel like they were winning, not with Saritha getting injured.
“Besides,” he continued, “one of the green guards told me you have visions too, just like me, Lovina, and Ezaara’s father, Hans. It’s always nice to meet someone else with the gift.” He grinned. “And it’s also nice to meet a leader who’s so young.”
She chuckled. “I’m sure it is. Nice to meet you, Taliesin. Thank you for your help.”
Their dragons rose from the healers’ clearing, leaving the wounded on bedrolls in the muddy snow beneath the trees. Sea dragons joined Saritha and Fangora, forming a spearhead, and rushed over the forest, their wingbeats dislodging snow from the treetops in soft wet clumps.
Tharuks surrounded the clearing in a thick ring, fighting with warriors. Overhead, the wingbeats of hundreds of dragons thundered through the sky—shadow dragons, Dragons’ Realm dragons, and those that had been turned with methimium, attacking their own. The screeching shadow dragons made it hard to think.
That metal box’s gold beam of light pierced the dusky clouds.
“Where’s Ezaara?” Stefan called, pointing at Zaarusha as she ascended from a low hill near the clearing, riderless, with Erob, at her side.
“Roberto’s missing too.” Ithsar scanned the clearing and surrounding fighters, and caught a glimpse of Ezaara’s colorful sathir, wending its way from the bottom of the hill toward the clearing.
Saritha spun to flame a shadow dragon, and Fangora chased it off. By the time Ithsar glanced below again, there was a flaming tunnel of mage fire cutting through the ring of tharuks into the clearing. The huge fighter she’d seen leading the warriors charged through the tunnel with Roberto at his side, warriors pouring through behind them.
Warriors fought and battled to keep that tunnel of flickering green flame open. Ithsar gasped. They couldn’t see a swarm of tharuks approaching from the southeast, about to provide reinforcements. She scanned the clearing and could only see Roberto, the barrel-chested man and other warriors. There was a tiny glimmer of multi-hued sathir, but no Ezaara. Worry gnawed at her. “Saritha, please ask Zaarusha where Ezaara is.”
A heartbeat later, Saritha answered, “She’s down there, wearing an invisibility cloak.”
Ithsar signaled to her assassins and they speared behind her and Stefan toward the swarm of tharuk reinforcements sneaking through the forest with as much stealth as a herd of stampeding camels. Tusks glinted in the last rays of the sun as the furry monsters barged through undergrowth.
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 176
