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

by Eileen Mueller

  Sea dragons wheeled above the forest, trying to blast flame down between towering trunks. Tharuks ducked behind trees and slunk through bushes. Dragon fire surged past foliage, melting snow and making leaves smolder.

  “We’re going to set the whole forest alight if we’re not careful,” Ithsar said.

  “Our sea dragons could surround them and set the trees on fire to cut off their path,” Saritha—not so helpfully—suggested.

  This was dragon fire, not mage flame that could be controlled to only burn what was intended. “If we set the forest on fire, the casualties could be too great.”

  Ithsar yanked a rope from her saddlebag and tied it around the saddle, then waved to her Robandi assassins. “We’re going down, Saritha.” Before her dragon could object, she leaped.

  Ithsar swung through the trees, to Saritha’s mournful howl. “I don’t want to lose you. Be careful.”

  Stefan, Misha and countless orange-robed women dropped to the forest floor and ran to attack the tharuks. The assassins spun and slashed, fur flying, dark blood spraying, hewing down tharuks—an orange whirlwind against an endless mass of dark fur, tusks and beady eyes.

  Ithsar cried, “Avanta.” She plunged her saber into the belly of a wiry brute and kicked its body away, yanking her blade free. Oh, these beasts stank. She wrinkled her nose and spun, hacking through the arm of another tharuk. It crumpled to its knees and she drove her saber through its back, and flicked her throwing knife into the neck of another running at her.

  As Ithsar retrieved her weapons, Misha slashed a tharuk across the snout, and Stefan parried another’s claws. A beast lunged, swiping for Ithsar’s head. She ducked, but it sliced her hair and a dark lock fell to the ground.

  Stefan whirled in and plunged a dagger up under the beast’s chin through its jaw and into its brain. The beast keeled toward him, but he threw it backward. Panting, he bent to grab his weapon, and then grinned and held up three fingers.

  She groaned and rolled her eyes.

  “Watch out!” Stefan’s cry was too late.

  The stench of tharuk overpowered her as a beast grabbed Ithsar, its strong furry arms a vice around her ribs.

  Stefan’s knife glinted. Ithsar flung her head to one side. His blade whistled past her, making a wet thud. The dracha gods only knew where it had hit. A spray of dark stinking blood gushed over the back of her neck and the tharuk fell away behind her.

  She shook off the slick blood as Stefan held up four fingers. Shaking her head, Ithsar yanked the blade from the monster’s neck and threw it to him. “Good shot.”

  He caught it. “Thanks. That’s four to me, only three to you.” He gave her another one of his infuriating grins.

  Ithsar wiped her hand on her robes and hefted her hilt.

  “Incoming tharuks,” Misha yelled behind them.

  A sword in each hand, Stefan swung them like windmills. The beasts hesitated, following the blades with their eyes.

  Ithsar sneaked around behind a bush and slashed her saber across the back of a tharuk’s knees as Stefan drove his sword into the eye of the other. Plunging her saber into the tharuk’s back, Ithsar finished it off, and straightened.

  “Behind you!” Stefan yelled.

  A flash of dark fur caught on the edge of Ithsar’s vision. She ducked and rolled as a tharuk slashed its sharp claws where she’d just been.

  Stefan hacked at the beast. It slashed at him. Dracha gods, had it hurt him? He was so coated in dark tharuk blood, it was hard to tell. No, he was swinging again, hacking at the beast’s arm, then its belly. It collapsed to its knees, snout open to the sky, roaring. Stefan drove his sword through the monster’s maw and out the back of its throat.

  He placed his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Five,” he puffed.

  §

  Stefan grinned, his face and clothes splattered with gore and tharuk blood.

  Ithsar knew she didn’t look much better.

  “Did you see that? Five,” he panted. “You only saved me three times—and you’re the assassin.” He hunched over, his hand clamped onto his side, breathing hard.

  “Then we’re lucky I drilled you, aren’t we?” Ithsar narrowed her eyes.

  Red blood was seeping over Stefan’s fingers. Within moments, his hand was stained scarlet.

  “Let me look at that.” Ithsar tried to remove his hand, but Stefan hissed in pain. “Saritha, come quick. Stefan’s hurt.”

  Ithsar waited agonizing heartbeats, but there was no answer. “Saritha?”

  Roars ripped through the forest. Fangora landed on a sapling, crushing it with his talons, his tail lashing the underbrush.

  “Sorry, I was telling Fangora.” Saritha said, circling the trees.

  Stefan leaned heavily on Ithsar’s shoulder, still clutching his side. The blood was spreading across his jerkin. Ithsar helped him over to Fangora, who lay as flat as he could against the ground so she could shove Stefan into the saddle. She clambered up behind him.

  “Quick, to the healers,” she said aloud to Fangora, then mind-melded with Saritha. “Does he know where to go?”

  “Yes, he remembers and thanks you for letting him transport his rider.”

  The young green dragon tensed his haunches and leaped above the trees. Teeth gritted, Stefan slumped over the spinal ridge in front of them. Ithsar wriggled forward, arms around him, jamming her short thighs against his long ones, and holding him in place. “Don’t you dare let go,” she threatened. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

  Oh gods, had she really just said that? “Just a few moments and we’ll be there,” she added.

  She prayed to the dracha gods that her new friend would make it. Her throat suddenly dry, she tried to swallow, but couldn’t. So, instead, she hung on to Stefan, willing him to live.

  His sathir was still green, but shimmering. Nila’s had gone out in an instant. She tried to tell herself that this was different, that the healers would fix him, that everything would be all right, but it didn’t stop the pounding of her pulse at her throat or the worry that tightened her airways.

  Fangora landed gently, backwinging up a storm to slow his descent. This time, a young blonde girl rushed out to meet them, accompanied by a huge warrior with a bandage on his head. The man lifted Stefan from Fangora, as if he were as light as an empty waterskin. Ithsar jumped from the saddle and spread her cloak on the grass next to Fangora. “Please heal him near his dragon.”

  Fangora huffed warm breath over Stefan’s face. The healer lifted Stefan’s shredded tunic. Two ugly gaping wounds were ripped in his side.

  By the blazing sun, if those claws had gone any deeper…

  “Tharuk claws. We’ve seen a lot of those injuries lately.” The healer bit her lip. She was younger than Ithsar—and thin, with red-rimmed eyes. This young girl’s sathir was the deep blue of mourning. “Usually I’d stitch him, but we don’t have time with so many wounded, so he’s going to have a scar.”

  “Better a scar than—” Ithsar swallowed and squeezed Stefan’s bloody hand.

  “Exactly. Tharuk claws are pretty dirty. Unfortunately, I don’t have any clean herb left, so this will have to do.” The healer sloshed water over the wound, then patted it dry and dribbled pale-green piaua juice deep into the torn and bloody muscle.

  Stefan’s eyes were glazed, flitting back and forth, unseeing.

  “Hold on, Stefan,” Ithsar pleaded. “This will burn like dragon flame, but soon you’ll be back on Fangora, ready to fight again.”

  His eyes cleared and he gazed at her. “Too right,” he said, then hissed through gritted teeth as the healer dribbled more piaua juice into his wound.

  “You know,” he said, “I won. Even at two saves, I won, because I helped save Saritha, queen of the sea dragons. And, without her, you’d be heartbroken.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I would be. You won.” She’d never admit that without him, she’d be heartbroken too.

  He shuddered, clenching his jaw as the juice burned through him. />
  Ithsar recalled the burn she’d felt when Ezaara had healed her fingers. Back then, Ezaara had been captive; Izoldia, her jailer; and Ithsar, Ashewar’s bullied and tormented servant. She gave Stefan a faint smile. Oh, how her life had changed.

  When the deep inner layers of Stefan’s muscle had kitted together, the healer dribbled in more juice, progressively healing all the tissue until his skin was whole.

  Finally, Stefan’s eyes cleared. He sat up and stretched his side. “Thank you.” He beamed at the healer. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Leah.” The healer smiled. “I’m glad to help. Many moons ago, Ezaara healed me, so now I share my gratitude by healing others.” She packed up her leather pouch.

  Stefan raced back over to Fangora. Saritha landed with an injured warrior on her back. Behind her, more dragons were alighting, bringing injured riders.

  Ithsar gently touched the healer’s arm. “Have you lost someone you love?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, eyes pooling with tears. “The Master Healer, Marlies, Ezaara’s mother. She taught me, Ezaara, and Taliesin everything we know.”

  “Do you mind me asking if she rode a silver dragon?”

  Leah nodded. “Yes, she did.” She went to help the incoming wounded.

  So that had been the brilliant flash of silver they’d seen in the sky on the way to Mage Gate.

  Ithsar picked up her cloak, now stained with Stefan’s fresh blood, and threw it over her shoulders. It was an honor to wear the blood he’d shed in saving her. Then she helped Leah get the wounded warrior off Saritha’s back.

  As she and Stefan mounted their dragons and sped above the trees on dragonback, that same blinding beam of light cut through the evening sky, but now it was alive, writhing with gold, silver, and black shadowy sathir.

  World Gate

  Shadow dragons lunged through the air at Saritha and Fangora. Ithsar ducked a green fireball, then shot the fake mage before he could fire another. Thank the blazing sun, Taliesin had given her more arrows. Saritha blasted flame at the mage’s shadow dragon and it dropped to the clearing, squashing a horde of tharuks. Hopefully, not any warriors.

  A silver thread of sathir raced from the dragon mage’s hands up the yellow beam of light, as a gold thread rushed from a slim crack in the sky down to meet it. Dark shadowy sathir swarmed up behind the dragon mage’s silver thread, shrouding it. Ithsar knew that if the shadows overtook the silver, all would be lost.

  The dragon mage, Giddi, fell to his knees, screaming, “Mazyka!” His desperate cry reverberated through the clearing and echoed through Ithsar’s gut, striking a chord deep within her.

  The silver thread shot above the clawing shadows and touched the gold. The world exploded in a flash of light.

  A rift appeared in the sky and a golden dragon flew through, a woman with flaming red hair upon its back. A mighty battle cry ripped from the woman’s throat.

  Smaller golden dragons poured through the crack, ridden by mages with blue light springing from their fingers.

  “Mazyka,” the dragon mage cried.

  “Who is she?” Ithsar asked Saritha.

  “His wife—the woman who helped the dragon mage break the world and let Commander Zens in,” Saritha replied.

  Zens thrust his hands up. With a surge, the shadows raced from his hands up the entwined silver and gold threads, and a dark crack opened in the sky. Metal beings glimmered behind it. A shining metal weapon poked through, blasting flame. One of the smaller golden dragons dropped from the sky, dead.

  The sathir threads grew thicker, twining around one another to form a golden rope threaded with silver. Dark shadows swirled from Zens around Master Giddi. Head swaying from side to side, the dragon mage held out his hands and roared.

  Zens laughed as a metal figure flew through the dark rift, shooting its weapon, felling green, gold, and blue dragons. The legs of more metal beings poked through the rift. Another dropped down. Its metal body gleaming, it fired at a blue dragon, destroying its wing in a burst of flame. The dragon plummeted, roaring in agony.

  The metal being chased it, propelled by some unseen magic, blasting more fire.

  Goren swooped in. Ithsar, Goren, and Stefan fired at the beings, but their arrows clattered off their metal carapaces.

  What manner of powerful beings were these—made of metal and wielding tubes of fire? Fear skittered through Ithsar’s bones. They could never withstand an army of these creatures.

  Below, Master Giddi ripped off his cloak and shirt, his torso naked. Dark tendrils of mist leaked from methimium arrow wounds in his back, winding around his neck and face.

  Zens laughed.

  White light burst from a crystal around the dragon mage’s neck and swept around the clearing, banishing the shadows. Zens was thrown onto his back. Tharuks and warriors fell to their knees, shielding their eyes.

  The light from the crystal on Giddi’s chest blazed through the sky, hitting the dark rift. The crack closed, shutting out the metal beings—hopefully forever.

  Mazyka’s golden dragon swooped upon the remaining metal beings. She blasted them with plumes of blue mage fire. They exploded, metal shards spraying across the forest.

  Saritha, Fangora, and Rengar rocked in the air, winging up to dodge the debris. Golden dragons dived and swooped after shadow dragons, mages on their backs shooting blue fireballs from their fingertips at the fake mages upon the dark dragons’ backs. Each time a fake mage was hit, it disintegrated into ash. Suddenly, the dark dragons started attacking one another, ripping off each other’s limbs and shredding wings.

  “What’s going on?” Ithsar asked.

  “I felt a mental ripple. I think the dragon mage has wrested his control back from Zens and has commanded the shadow dragons to attack one another.”

  Down in the clearing, Mazyka aimed a metal tube—like the one that had spat fire through the world gate—at Master Giddi, who collapsed.

  “She’s hurt him!” Ithsar cried out.

  “I don’t think so. Look again.”

  Mazyka was cutting the methimium crystals out of Giddi’s back, right there in the middle of the field.

  Mages on dragonback chased fighting shadow dragons. Ithsar dispatched dark dragons and fake mages with her arrows, the other assassins felling more of the foul beasts. “It’s much easier picking them off when none of them are flaming us. Almost too easy.”

  There was a roar, and a blast of heat roiled through the air overhead. Ithsar spun. “Blue dragon, incoming from above.” The dragon was aiming for Saritha. “It must have a methimium implant.”

  Saritha ducked and dodged but the blue had the advantage of altitude, so Saritha sped off, heading over the forest, flame nearly singeing her wingtips.

  By the blazing desert sun, she was a fool for relaxing her guard. If anything happened to Saritha—

  Fangora appeared, and the blue dragon screeched and whirled, racing back to the clearing. Stefan held up six fingers and pointed to his chest.

  “That was hardly a save,” Ithsar yelled, relieved all the same. “Neither of you even fired.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m so fierce and ugly I scare away the most terrible foes,” Stefan called.

  Ithsar laughed. Stefan was anything but ugly, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Fangora wheeled off to fight another shadow dragon.

  Back in the clearing, golden dragons dropped a shadow dragon carcass onto the grass and lured in the methimium-turned dragons to feast.

  “Disgusting.” Saritha’s distaste washed over Ithsar. “Those were valiant dragons, but Zens has turned them into despicable savages.”

  The sight made Ithsar’s stomach churn.

  Mazyka and a team of warriors shot the turned dragons with metal tubes, and they collapsed, asleep. Mages from the golden dragons clambered over them, digging out their methimium arrowheads.

  “Look,” Ithsar said. “Mazyka and her mages are extracting methimium implants from the colored dragons that turned.”<
br />
  “The battle’s not over. Look there, Zaarusha needs help.” Saritha shot over the trees toward the river where they’d seen the raging wall of mage flame earlier in the day. That inferno was extinguished now, and the river was choked with tharuk bodies, the grasping tentacles of feeding plants, and a dying shadow dragon.

  On the far bank, Ezaara and Roberto were fighting Commander Zens.

  But below them, on this side of the river, Zaarusha was flaming a horde of tharuks that were trying to sneak through the trees. If those beasts broke through Zaarusha’s defense, Ezaara and Roberto would have no chance. “Saritha, those tharuks.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Her dragon dived as Ithsar nocked her bow and fired at a hulking tharuk leading the troop. Her arrow hit the beast between the eyes, and it crashed to the forest floor. Zaarusha belched a swathe of flame across the front of the troop, and Saritha hit them at the back end, while Ithsar fired arrows into the thick of the horde. Tharuks roared and snarled as arrows struck them in the head, thighs, chest, and neck. They yowled, dragon fire licking over their fur and burning them.

  Above Ithsar, the sky roiled with fire. Flashes of green mage flame and streaks of blue stabbed through the flames, incinerating dark dragons. Thick clumps of ash floated down, coating her hair and thighs, but still Ithsar kept firing arrows, and the dragons kept flaming until there were only a few tharuks left.

  “Zaarusha has asked us to leave the last few tharuks to her, and to check the forest between here and the clearing in case there are more.” Saritha ascended above the forest.

  “And Ezaara and Roberto? Should we help them kill Zens?” Ithsar glanced down at the riverbank where Zens lay at Roberto’s feet, with Roberto’s sword at his throat.

  “No. Zaarusha says they want that pleasure themselves.”

  As Saritha wheeled to head back across the forest, Ithsar glanced back to make sure her friends Ezaara and Roberto were safe. Ezaara stalked up behind Roberto and slashed her sword across Zens’ gut, a red stain blooming. Then she drove her sword through his throat.

  Even without having seen it, Ithsar would’ve still known Zens was dead. The sathir over the forest lightened, as if a great shadow had lifted from the land—like an awning being rolled back so the blazing desert sun could shine.