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

by Eileen Mueller

  After the War

  Bonfires crackled high in the clearing at Mage Gate as dragons incinerated piles of tharuks, shadow beasts, and even their own kind, who’d died or been killed after being turned by methimium. Ithsar shook her head at the waste of life—although, as an assassin, she would’ve been trained specifically to kill, had it not been for her deformed fingers.

  The piles of burning, reeking flesh turned her stomach.

  Stefan nudged her with his elbow. “It almost makes you want to give up fighting, doesn’t it?” He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “We lost some brave riders today.”

  Misha nodded. “I’ve never really enjoyed fighting.”

  Holding her chin up, Ithsar squeezed Misha’s hand and swallowed. Nila’s bright flickering flame and her zest for life were no more. It was a sore loss for all of them, but Misha had been Nila’s closest friend.

  She cast about, looking for Ezaara. In the light of the fire, pockets of assassins and dragon riders were chatting, cleaning their weapons, or making food.

  Ithsar paced over to the young dragon rider seated near his purple dragon whose scales glinted gold in the firelight. She inclined her head. “You helped me in battle today when those dragons had Saritha in her clutches. Thank you for killing the one latched to her tail.” She clasped his hands, then released them.

  “It was nothing,” An easy grin lit up his soot-smudged, bloodied face. Blue-gray eyes looked from under from his battle-dirty blonde hair. Eyes that sparkled with fun. “I’m Kierion. Nice to meet you, Ithsar. I’ve never shaken hands with a chief prophetess before—or an assassin, and lived to tell the tale. Can you predict my future?”

  She shook her head, then realized he was teasing her. “No, but one of my assassins may be able to predict your immediate future, or lack of it, if you test their skills with a blade.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Hey, Fenni, come over here.”

  A tall green-eyed mage with blond hair stalked over and shook Ithsar’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Fenni.”

  “You’re the mage who was riding with Kierion,” Ithsar said. “Thanks for your help. Your fireball skills helped save my dragon’s life today.”

  “Did you hear that, Fenni?” Kierion crowed.

  Fenni blushed to the tips of his ears. “He’s giving me a hard time because fireballs took me ages to master.” He grinned. “Seriously, I used to be hopeless.”

  Ithsar grinned back.

  A short Naobian girl raced over and threw her arms around Ithsar, nearly bowling her over. It was strange hugging someone her own size—usually everyone towered over her.

  “Hey, Ithsar, I’m Adelina,” the girl said. “Thank you for saving my brother.” Adelina’s voice broke.

  Her brother? Ithsar pulled back to gaze at Adelina’s olive-back eyes and Naobian complexion. Oh, of course. “I should have realized Roberto was your brother.”

  Adelina waved a hand. “He’s much taller than me, so most people never guess we’re related.”

  It wasn’t the height difference as much as their demeanor. Roberto had an air of distrust about him. Adelina was bubbly, her smile bright—they were worlds apart.

  Adelina clasped Ithsar’s hand. “Ezaara asked me to tell you she had to leave for Dragons’ Hold urgently.”

  Ithsar swallowed a sharp pang of disappointment. So that’s where Ezaara was. She’d gone to find out what was left of her shattered people. Ithsar hoped for her sake that her home was still intact. She sighed. Of course, a Queen’s Rider would be far too busy to visit with a lowly assassin.

  “What do you mean, a lowly assassin?” Saritha growled. “You’re a Queen’s Rider too—of the queen of the sea dragons.”

  “She said she’d love to see you tomorrow morning at Dragons’ Hold to personally thank you for your help.” Adelina gave an infectious smile.

  “She did?” Ithsar grinned, warmth blossoming her breast.

  §

  Ithsar and Saritha swooped over the peaks of Dragon’s Teeth and into Dragons’ Hold. The faint scent of char remained on the breeze, the blackened stones where snow had been melted away, a testament to the bodies that had recently been burned there.

  “I see Zaarusha asleep on a ledge on that mountain face,” Saritha mind-melded.

  The mountainsides above the stony clearing were pockmarked with caves. Some dragons were slumbering on ledges—recovering their strength after the arduous battle—while others flew above the basin, ferrying debris into piles, no doubt for another burning. It took Ithsar a moment to spot Zaarusha. There was space for several dragons on her wide, rocky ledge. An overhang protected the back end, and it was there that Zaarusha was sequestered with her head under her wing. Beside her, Erob was asleep too.

  The queen of Dragons’ Realm raised her head and looked right at them, tracking Saritha with her eyes as she flew.

  “Did you tell her we’re coming?” Ithsar’s orange robes billowed in the breeze.

  “In the sea, we mind-meld when we’re visiting another’s territory. I thought I’d give Zaarusha the same courtesy. She is another dragon queen, after all.”

  “Fair enough.” Finally, Ithsar would see Ezaara again. Not just a distant glimpse in battle, but a chance to talk to her friend.

  Saritha flew in a lazy arc and swooped in to land on the ledge, her talons scrabbling on the rock. “Zaarusha welcomes you and has told Ezaara you’re here. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a swim later in that beautiful lake.”

  “Of course, you can, and please thank Zaarusha.” Ithsar leaped off her sea dragon.

  “Ithsar!” Ezaara and Roberto appeared at the back of the overhang. Ezaara ran over and they embraced.

  “Thank you, Ithsar,” Ezaara said. “You changed the tide of the battle. Your sea dragons and the Naobian greens helped save us.”

  “Before I ever met you, I had a vision of us riding into battle together,” Ithsar said, her blood thrumming as she remembered. “And then again, when my mother captured you.”

  Ezaara clasped Ithsar tighter. “I was afraid your mother had killed you because you helped us. Gods, I’m glad you’re alive.”

  “Ashewar lives no longer.” Sorrow lanced through Ithsar. She would probably always feel this sadness and disappointment, but now she had much more than just a mother who’d hated her. She was the rider of Saritha, and the leader of the Robandi assassins. She’d helped win a war. And she’d found friends who valued her. “I’m now the chief prophetess of the Robandi assassins.” She waved her fingers in the air. “And I have fingers that work. Thank you. None of this would’ve happened without you, Ezaara.”

  “How in the Egg’s name did you become Chief Prophetess? And how did you meet your beautiful dragon?”

  “That’s a long story,” said Ithsar. “And Saritha is hungry and needs time to recover from battle.”

  “As do you.” Ezaara enclosed Ithsar’s cool hand in her own warm one. “I suggest Zaarusha takes Saritha hunting and maybe to the lake for a swim, while you and Roberto and I catch up over breakfast.”

  Roberto laughed and embraced Ithsar. “We’d love to hear your tale.”

  “That would suit Saritha well. Although she hankers for the sea, she’s keen to try your northern lakes.” Ithsar grinned. “And I’m famished.”

  As the dragons flew off together, Ithsar followed them through Zaarusha’s den, inside. The Queen’s Rider’s cavern was more modest than Ithsar had expected—nothing like Ashewar’s grand throne room in the Robandi lair under the oasis. There were drawers, a big bed, a beautiful hand-painted wardrobe, a small table, and some chairs. And dragons. Everything was decorated with dragons—the quilt, the rug, the cushions, even the paintings on the wardrobe and the hilts of the two decorative swords mounted on the wall. A dragon tapestry on the far wall had been slashed. Probably by tharuks when they’d overrun the hold.

  Ezaara waved a hand. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess. I’ll tidy up eventually, but at the moment, the welf
are of my people is more important.”

  Again, so different to Ashewar.

  Roberto pulled three chairs out from the table, and flourished a hand. “Please, take a seat.” He sprinkled dried berries from a pouch into three cups, then added water from a waterskin. “I’ll ask Erob to heat this brew.” He brushed Ezaara’s hair with his lips. “Back soon.” He wandered out to the ledge as Ithsar and Ezaara sat down.

  “It must be nice to have someone care about you like that,” Ithsar said.

  Ezaara followed him with her gaze, a faint smile on her face. “You know, he wasn’t always like this. I positively hated him when we first met. He was so cold and arrogant.”

  “But he’s such a wonderful man now. I could tell that, even back at the oasis.”

  “Yes, he is. He hid it well.” Ezaara gestured at a basket of fruit and some bread. “I’m afraid there’s not much else to eat around here. Although we do have a few preserves if you’d like me to fetch some. Tharuks rampaged through the mess cavern and destroyed most of the fresh supplies.”

  Ithsar bit into a roll of fluffy bread. “I never really had a chance to thank you properly for healing my fingers.”

  Ezaara laughed. “We were too busy trying to escape a horde of angry assassins. What happened after I left? I was sure Ashewar would be livid.”

  “Ashewar was. She tried to kill me.” Ithsar finished her roll and told Ezaara exactly what had happened.

  When she described Stefan’s hopeless attack on her, there was a quiet chuckle behind her.

  Roberto came over and placed the steaming cups on the table, the fragrant tang of berries wafting toward them.

  “What’s this?” Ithsar asked.

  “Soppleberry tea. One of my favorites.” Roberto took a sip. “Luckily.” He winked at Ezaara.

  “It sounds as if there’s a story behind that,” Ithsar said.

  Roberto’s dark eyes, so like her own, were laced with pain. “A while ago, Zens captured and tortured me, then implanted a methimium crystal in my back. When I returned to Dragons’ Hold, I was determined to kill Ezaara, but at the last moment, she distracted me with soppleberry tea.” He raised his eyebrows, exhaling forcefully. “Even if I hadn’t liked soppleberry before, that would be a great reason to make it my favorite.”

  Ezaara shuddered. “I laced it with woozy weed. He fell asleep within moments. My mother, Marlies…” She bit her lip.

  Roberto squeezed her hand and finished for her. “Ezaara and her mother extracted the crystal from my back. Marlies was a great woman, one of the finest healers Dragons’ Hold has ever had.”

  A stray tear on her cheek, Ezaara murmured softly, “It was thanks to my mother that I could fix your fingers.”

  “She rode a silver dragon, didn’t she?” Ithsar asked.

  “Yes, she rode Liesar. They’d only been reunited for a few short moons. She sacrificed her life to save me in battle.”

  “So we’ve both lost our mothers recently.” Ithsar clasped Ezaara’s hand and Ezaara squeezed hers back.

  “And Roberto lost his father,” Ezaara murmured.

  “My father sold me to the enemy, who tortured and abused me, and turned me against the ones I loved.” Roberto grimaced. “We all have scars. Some of us have done unspeakable things, but now let’s make the world a better place.”

  No matter what their pasts were—despite methimium crystals, murderous mothers, traitorous fathers, and despite the evil monsters that had tried to destroy Dragons’ Realm—they could rebuild this realm.

  Ezaara put her hand on the table. “Let’s make it a place where children may laugh and play in the sun without the fear of being hurt or enslaved.”

  Ithsar placed her hand on top of Ezaara’s. “A place where people may pursue whatever life they want, regardless of where or how they were born.”

  Roberto placed his hand on top. “A life where mothers and fathers respect and honor their children, and raise them with a sense of dignity and self-worth.”

  Then Roberto smiled. “Let’s start tomorrow. Now, we’ll show you around Dragons’ Hold.”

  But Ithsar knew they’d already started rebuilding. From the pride gleaming in Roberto and Ezaara’s eyes, they knew it as well.

  Reunion

  Kisha saw the last of her customers out the door. “Have a lovely evening.”

  “You too, Kisha, it was a wonderful meal. We’re glad you’ve reopened without those other patrons.” The gentleman winked, then surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder just to make sure no stray tharuks were listening.

  He needn’t have feared. The Robandi assassins and green guards had managed to kill most of them and drive the rest away. Hopefully Last Stop would be free of those awful beasts for a while. Kisha walked back to the kitchen, Thika perched upon her shoulder with his tail loosely around her neck, to finish washing the dishes.

  She dunked a pan in the tub and scrubbed it. It had been a long day, but a good one. Two days ago, after the Robandi assassins had left the Lost King Inn, Kisha had spread the word around town that she’d be opening to patrons again today. Then she’d rushed back to polish the place until it gleamed. The builder had fixed the front door and the glazier had even managed to replace her window, so even though she had fewer tables and chairs, the inn was in good shape.

  She was just putting away the last serving dish when a heavy thud sounded outside the square—an ominous thud, like a shadow dragon landing. Thika’s tail coiled tighter as Kisha crept to the window to peek outside.

  It wasn’t a shadow dragon, but Ithsar on Saritha. Ramisha, Fangora, and Nilanna landed beside her. More sea dragons and green guards wheeled in the air above the town square.

  Kisha raced outside as Ithsar dismounted. Ithsar’s robes were stained and battle-dirty, but Kisha didn’t care. She flung her arms around the chief prophetess. “I’m so glad you’re back. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

  Stefan swung out of the saddle and jumped down, his boots thunking on the cobbles. “Thanks to me, she made it.” He grinned cheekily. “For a moment there, she was in trouble, but I swooped in and saved her—six times, no less.”

  Kisha hugged him too, but Ithsar reached past Kisha to slug him on the arm.

  Stefan slugged her back.

  Kisha glanced around. “Where’s Nila?”

  Ithsar’s smile died.

  And Kisha knew. “She didn’t make it, did she?” Her throat tightened and her eyes stung.

  Nila, gone. Nila, who had laughed as she’d stitched her wound, and told her crazy tales of life in the desert and stories of the underwater world, stoically ignoring the pain in her side—pain that was so bad, she’d been pale and shaking. Nila, who’d swung on the utensil rank in her kitchen to save her from those horrible tharuks.

  Nilanna hung back, hunkering down on the edge of the square. She tucked her head under her wing and went to sleep.

  Ithsar jerked her head toward the dragon. “It’ll take time. For all of us. Nila was a bright star in our lives.”

  A bright star that had burned out. Had Kisha’s grandmother, Anakisha, been like Nila? Although Kisha had never met Anakisha, her mother had told her that she’d been full of life, bold, and not afraid of danger. No one had expected her to be lost in battle.

  Kisha forced herself to smile brightly. “Come inside, Ithsar, and call your riders. There’s hot stew on the hearth if you’d like some.”

  “Sounds great.” Ithsar forced her own overly-bright smile, and raked a hand through her disheveled hair. Somewhere in battle she must’ve lost her pretty orange headscarf. Her face was covered in grime and she looked weary.

  Thika scrambled from the crook of Kisha’s neck, down her forearm and leaped onto Ithsar’s arm, racing up to her shoulder. He snuffled her hair and chittered. Ithsar laughed. “Yes, boy, it’s good to see you too.”

  A tiny stab of loss pinged through Kisha. It was fine. Thika was Ithsar’s lizard, after all. She’d only been looking after him.

  The liz
ard scampered down the front of Ithsar’s robe and burrowed inside, then popped back out, and raced down Ithsar’s leg and up Kisha’s skirt, onto her forearm again. He perched there, looking back and forth between them both.

  Ithsar laughed. “Now that’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in days—apart from Stefan being caught by tharuks down that lane.” She waved a hand toward a nearby alley.

  “Huh! What about you?” Stefan leaned down and picked up a short end of Ithsar’s hair. “You haven’t told us yet about how you managed to lose one of your beautiful dark tresses. When exactly did you make the decision to hire a tharuk as a barber?”

  Ithsar snorted. “At least my hair’s beautiful. When did you decide to wash yours in tharuk blood?”

  Misha laughed. “We all decided to do that when we followed you north. Now, will you two stop bickering. Kisha, you mentioned a hearty stew?”

  Kisha laughed. “Come inside and tell me everything.”

  Ithsar groaned. “Don’t say that! Stefan will never stop yammering about the six times he saved me.”

  “There! She admitted it!” Stefan crowed to Misha. “I told you I saved her six times.”

  Kisha wrinkled her nose. “Well, I’m sorry, but now that I’ve purged my inn of the stink of tharuk, you’re all going to have to take hot baths before dinner.”

  Ithsar’s eyes shone. “Sounds blissful.” Her smile was matched by Misha and Stefan’s grins.

  §

  In the end, Kisha didn’t have quite enough stew to go around, so Misha and three of the green guards chopped more ingredients and threw them into the cauldron—the same cauldron she’d wanted to hit the tharuk with. They cracked open a few more jars of pickles, and Kisha rustled up some flatbread.

  When the food was ready, Kisha bustled out with steaming tureens of stew and baskets of bread, and placed them on the tables.

  The Lost King was crammed full of green guards and assassins—many of whom had taken advantage of the bathing facilities upstairs and changed into fresh orange robes or riders’ garb. They lounged in chairs, all over the floor, and even stood around the walls as they bit into fresh bread and helped themselves to Kisha’s stew.