Dragon Hero: Riders of Fire, Book Two - A Dragons' Realm novel Read online

  Yep, Ezaara’s cheeks were flaming. And not from passion. She was mortified—and as mad as a bear with a toothache.

  People scattered as Klaus barreled through the crowd. “Is that those twins again?” With a bellow like an ox, a girth to match a draft horse, and even taller than Lofty, Klaus was the settlement’s arbitrator. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m off to get that knife.” Lofty thrust a handful of coppers at Tomaaz and slunk away. Typical—always the first to plan trouble and the last to get blamed for it. But Lofty’s adventurous streak appealed to Tomaaz. No one else here was half as fun.

  Beatrice gave Tomaaz a wave and headed back to her pastries.

  “Tomaaz! Ezaara!” Klaus faced them off, hands on hips.

  Tomaaz pocketed the coins and squared his shoulders. People were staring at them, but he didn’t care. Beatrice had seen him fight. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I challenged Ezaara.”

  “In the middle of the marketplace?” Klaus snapped. “You could have taken out a littling’s eye.”

  “Our tips were corked and the blades aren’t sharpened,” Ezaara defended. “See?” She passed him her sword.

  Klaus ran his thumb and forefinger along Ezaara’s blade. “It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t—”

  “She tricked Tomaaz,” Old Bill called out. “Fighting sneaky, like a dragon rider.”

  Why was Bill bringing dragon riders into this? The fool. Any mention of dragons was bound to get Klaus riled up.

  Klaus spun on Bill. “If I hear you mention those filthy winged reptiles and their stinking riders again, you’ll be getting acquainted with our jail.”

  Bill glowered.

  Klaus stabbed his finger on Tomaaz’s chest. “No fighting in the marketplace.”

  “Sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.” Tomaaz inclined his head. One day, he’d be free from Klaus’ silly restrictions. One day, he’d see dragons for himself.

  “They knocked over my cloth,” Old Bill protested.

  “Help Bill tidy up.” Flinging them a stern glare, Klaus strode off.

  Old Bill rubbed his hands together. “So, kissed by Lofty, eh?”

  Tomaaz stared at Bill in disgust. “I can’t believe you put Lofty up to that. I mean, he’s liked her for ages, and now he’s blown it. There’s no way my sister’s going to like him back now.”

  Ezaara rolled her eyes. “Would you two stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”

  They’d cheapened Ezaara with those filthy coppers—and she had enough problems with her self-confidence already. Tomaaz tried to make light of it. “Come on, Bill, you should’ve bet Lofty a silver.”

  It didn’t work. Ezaara turned her back on him and dumped a roll of cloth on Old Bill’s trestle table. Bill’s daughter, Lovina, ignored them all, her filmy gray eyes examining the frayed stitching on her tattered boots. Boots so fascinating, she’d probably missed the whole sword fight. Tomaaz tossed the remaining bolts on the table and left.

  Walking a little straighter as he approached Beatrice’s stand, he winked at her. Despite Klaus’ bollocking, today was shaping up nicely. He passed Beatrice a copper. “I’d like a potato patty, please.” Tomaaz grinned at Beatrice, whose cheeks pinked. Now, that was the way to make a girl blush, not by embarrassing her in front of a crowd.

  As he took the patty from Beatrice, their fingers brushed, sending a thrill through him. Tomaaz’s heart thrummed. He was loathe to go, but didn’t have a reason to stay. So, he turned away, biting into his patty, savoring the salty cheese and paprika.

  Ezaara was still hanging around the cloth stall. Old Bill was leaning over his trestle table, shoving something into her hands. She glanced around furtively. Then, cradling her palms, she stared down, face full of wonder.

  What was he showing her? Bill was very interested in Ezaara today. Tomaaz ground the now tasteless patty between his teeth. One of Bill’s customers bumped Ezaara and she shoved the object back at Bill and hurried away.

  Scoffing the last of his patty, Tomaaz rushed after her, but the next moment, Lofty was there.

  “Hey, Maaz, look at my knife. It’s a real beauty.”

  The handle was bone, carved with interwoven vines. Tomaaz let out a low whistle. “Nice.”

  Lofty weighed it in his palm. “And it’s beautifully weighted. Here, try.” Lofty held the knife as if he was about to throw it.

  “Watch it,” said Tomaaz. “I don’t want Klaus over here again.” He took the blade. “Feels good. That should improve your aim.”

  Lofty nudged him, crowing. “At least, that’s one thing I can do better than you!”

  “True.” Tomaaz passed the blade back, and Lofty rushed off to show someone else as Ezaara came out from behind the cooper’s stall.

  “There you are.” Tomaaz approached her. “I was looking for you.”

  “Marco got a bleeding nose from Paolo.”

  Tomaaz rolled his eyes. “Those two again.” The boys were always getting into scrapes.

  “Now you sound like Klaus.” Ezaara grinned. “They don’t know the sharp end of a sword from a hilt, and Paolo swings way too hard. We should teach them.”

  “Good idea,” Tomaaz said, tugging Ezaara toward their parents’ produce stall. “Now, what was Bill showing you, on the quiet?”

  Glancing around again, Ezaara whispered, “Cloth—speckled with dragons of gold and bronze.”

  “Contraband cloth? Lucky Klaus didn’t catch you.” What was Bill’s game? “Be careful. Old Bill’s bad news.”

  Ezaara’s face was filled with longing. “Even if dragons are evil, the fabric was beautiful.”

  Tomaaz wrinkled his nose as they passed a pen of piglets. “Lofty says dragons are honored beyond the Grande Alps.” Dare he tell her? Might as well. “One day, I’m going to look for myself.”

  She elbowed him, hard. “Someone will hear you.”

  “So what? I’m not going to live here forever, you know.”

  Her eyes flew wide. “You’d leave us?”

  Tomaaz blew out his cheeks. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

  Ezaara frowned. “That’s why Lofty’s ma wanted owl-wort—you and Lofty are planning to go tonight, right?”

  Tomaaz laughed. “If only!”

  “If you ever leave, take me with you.” Ezaara’s voice was fierce.

  “All right.” Tomaaz cuffed her arm. “But no running off without me, either.”

  “Never,” Ezaara swore. They bumped knuckles, sealing their vow.

  When they reached their family stall, Ma sent Ezaara off to gather more herbs in the forest. “I’ll duck home and get some flatbread on the hearth before the fire’s dead,” she said.

  Pa brushed his dark curls back from his forehead. “We’ve sold out sooner than I thought. How about a dip, Tomaaz?”

  “Sounds great,” Tomaaz replied. Good thing too: the coating of dust and grime he was wearing would ruin the impression he’d made on Beatrice. She was the prettiest girl in Lush Valley. For many moons, he’d been working up the courage to ask her out. Thank the gods, Lofty had dared him earlier, otherwise he’d still be wondering whether she’d say yes.

  “Not so fast,” Pa said. “First, take this last sack of carrots to the smithy.”

  Tomaaz wasn’t in a hurry—Beatrice and Pieter always took their leftovers to the bedridden and widows after the market. And he didn’t want to seem too eager to get clean—his family would tease the hair from his head if he told them he was seeing a girl.

  “Sure, Pa.” He shouldered the carrots and headed to the smithy. How many sacks would he haul and how many carrots would he harvest before he had a real adventure? Probably hundreds. Thousands. Tomaaz sighed, trudging away.

  §

  Hans floated on his back in the warm water. He and Marlies had discovered this swimming hole years ago, when they’d first arrived in Lush Valley and settled on their farm near the forest. It was his favorite place to bathe.

  His son was scrubbing at his curls with more vigor than usu
al.

  Hans raised an eyebrow at Tomaaz. “Going somewhere special later?”

  “Just off for a walk.”

  Hans couldn’t help grinning. Did Tomaaz think he was a fool? He’d taken so long delivering those potatoes, and it hadn’t only been that sword fight with Ezaara that had delayed him. And he’d been as jaunty as a songbird when he’d returned. “I know market day’s a welcome break, but tomorrow, we’ll need to get back to harvest, Son.”

  “I know.” Tomaaz dived under, then popped up, floating on his back, too.

  Laughing, Hans waded ashore and dried himself. “Come on, we’ve got stock to feed before you go off on your walk.” He pursed his lips, blowing Tomaaz a kiss.

  “Hey!” Tomaaz swept his arm across the river’s surface, spraying him. “You can feed the stock yourself, just for that!”

  Hans laughed and tugged his clothes on. Marlies’ flatbread and soup might be ready by the time they returned. He bent to tie his boots.

  Was that a tingle in his chest? After all these years?

  He’d never had that feeling since living here. He scanned the sky—as he had done every day since they’d settled in Lush Valley. The tingling grew stronger, pulsing across his ribs. The range and focus of his vision extended.

  There, a flash in the distant sky. Moments later, he saw another.

  Keeping his voice casual, Hans addressed his son, “Want a race through the forest to the clearing?”

  Still in the river, Tomaaz grinned. “The loser cleans the dinner bowls?”

  “You’re on.” Hans took off.

  “Hey,” Tomaaz called, splashing out of the water behind him. “Not fair!”

  Hans threw caution to the wind, racing ahead.

  The power in his chest intensified and he sped forward, leaping logs, charging through the forest. Liquid fire sang in his veins.

  With his enhanced dragon sight, Hans recognized the mighty multi-hued dragon approaching from the north. The dragon was circling down toward … there, through the trees … his daughter! Shards! Zaarusha, the dragon queen, was coming for Ezaara!

  No!

  An eye for an eye, but this was crazy. If he could get there in time, perhaps he could reason with the dragon queen. He raced through the forest to the sacred clearing.

  “No! Ezaara!” he cried out, as she jumped. Hans gathered his strength and sprang into the air. His fingertips grazed the tip of her boot as she shot skyward. He fell to the earth.

  The dragon was too fast. She already had Ezaara.

  Energy ebbed from Hans’ body as Zaarusha winged her way toward the distant ranges. The dragon queen had found them. And Ezaara was gone.

  What a price for an innocent mistake. His breath whooshed from his chest.

  Several clear stones were scattered on the grass. He grabbed them, rubbing their smooth oval surfaces and pointed ends. Zaarusha had left him calling stones.

  Twigs cracked and leaves rustled. Someone was coming.

  Hastily, Hans pocketed the stones, mentally cursing the silly tales of dragons carrying off young maidens, made up years ago to keep young girls close to home. Such stupid tales might help folk guess what had happened.

  Marlies broke into the clearing, breathing hard. “Hans! Where are the children? Tomaaz? Ezaara? Are they all right?”

  “Zaarusha came. Ezaara’s gone.”

  “No!” Marlies whispered, her face hollow. “My baby!”

  Nearly seventeen, Ezaara was hardly a baby, but Hans felt the same—Zaarusha had raided their nest. “There may be hope yet. Zaarusha wants us to contact her.” He showed Marlies a calling stone.

  Marlies recoiled. “Contact her?”

  Hans gripped her arm. “It may be our only chance of seeing Ezaara again.”

  Her breath shuddered. “Oh, Hans, what have I done? It’s my fault. If only I hadn’t touched her dragonet’s egg …” She sagged against him.

  Hans cocooned her in his arms. “You didn’t know. It was an innocent mistake.”

  Marlies’ turquoise eyes were heavy with tears. “I’ll fix this. I have to. Please, pass me the stone.”

  “Don’t be afraid.” Hans tried to comfort her, in vain. If only he could stop his own heart from hammering like a battle drum.

  §

  Afraid? Marlies shivered. That didn’t even start to describe the emotions rushing through her. She could still hear the dragon queen’s shriek when Zaarusha had discovered her dead dragonet. Her roars had shaken the mountainside, setting off avalanches. Only the billowing clouds of snow had prevented Marlies and Hans being spotted as they’d fled Dragons’ Hold on Liesar’s back.

  She couldn’t guess what sort of punishment Zaarusha had given Liesar for helping them flee.

  “Marlies.” Hans’ voice was urgent. “Quick, use the stone before Zaarusha’s out of range.”

  Taking the stone from Hans, Marlies rubbed the flat surface. She gritted her teeth, straining to hold Zaarusha’s face in her mind—a face she’d spent years trying to forget. A face that had stalked her nightmares.

  Hans grasped Marlies’ shoulder and mind-melded with her, giving her strength.

  Even the breeze seemed to hold its breath as colors swirled across the crystal’s surface. A shape formed—Zaarusha. Golden eyes regarded Marlies.

  The pounding in her chest was so fierce, she was sure the dragon queen could hear it. Nearly eighteen years they’d hidden, burying their sorrow, and rejoicing in the lives of their children. Marlies dipped her head in a bow. “My Queen.”

  “Am I?” Zaarusha’s voice rumbled through Marlies’ mind like boulders shifting in a flooded river.

  Marlies remembered the purple dragonet crooning to her, singing—then suddenly lifeless and dead, floating in its translucent shell. Pain stabbed at her. Her own pain? Or was she feeling Zaarusha’s?

  It made no difference; the royal dragonet was gone. Marlies fell to her knees, still clutching the calling stone. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” Zaarusha rumbled. “Sorry my baby died.”

  “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to—”

  “An accident that blessed you with fertility.”

  Marlies’ throat tightened. “I—I didn’t know. I—” Her tears fell onto the crystal, blurring Zaarusha’s image.

  “You fled—that was an act of cowardice.”

  She nodded. Zaarusha was right. Terrified of facing the dragon queen, she’d run, dragging Hans with her. “I was horrified at what I’d done.”

  “Yes, you killed my baby.”

  Her crime was out in the open, stark and raw. “So, now I must pay for my cowardice.” Swallowing the lump that threatened to choke her, Marlies whispered, “And that price is my daughter ….”

  “No, your daughter is not a price. I need your bravery.”

  What sort of answer was that? “I understand, Zaarusha. You want Ezaara. Your baby for my daughter.”

  “No. It’s Ezaara’s destiny to be Queen’s Rider. My dragonet blessed you with fertility in its dying moments and gifted Ezaara with special talents. Being Queen’s Rider is her right, not a payment.”

  “I don’t understand …”

  “I need you, Marlies. My son is captive, held by Zens in Death Valley. Zens’ tharuks are making inroads into the realm as we speak. I can’t leave to save my son and I can’t spare Tonio—the only other spy I’d trust to rescue him. Save my son, and I will forgive your recklessness.”

  Marlies held her breath. “And if I fail?”

  “I hope you won’t.”

  Marlies swallowed. If she failed, she’d be dead—murdered by Zens or his tharuks.

  Her heart ached for Zaarusha. She’d not only lost her dragonet, she’d now lost a fully-grown son. Perhaps she could ease Zaarusha’s pain—and her own. After all these years, the dragonet’s blood still made her palms itch. Although nothing would ever cleanse her hands, she could do this. She’d slink into Death Valley and free Zaarusha’s son, saving a royal dragon—and perhaps some slaves with
him.

  Still mind-melded with Hans, she sensed his alarm. “I’ll do it, Zaarusha. Please, tell me everything I need to know.”

  Via the calling stone, Zaarusha shared an image with Marlies and Hans: a narrow mountainside pass winding down into an eerie mist-shrouded valley. Devoid of vegetation, the chasm looked as if it was waiting to swallow Marlies, to suck away her life. Marlies’ stomach curled in on itself. “I don’t know this place.”

  “It’s Death Valley.”

  Hans’ shocked eyes met Marlies’. “It’s changed,” he mind-melded, “but so have we in the last eighteen years.”

  “I’m nearly out of range,” Zaarusha said. “Marlies, do you accept this responsibility?”

  “Yes, I do.” The weight lifted from Marlies’ shoulders, but another settled in its place—this task was no easy stroll through a flower-strewn meadow.

  “Please, Marlies, return my son to me.” The image grew blurry and Zaarusha’s voice faint.

  “Look after Ezaara,” Marlies melded.

  Colors flickered on the crystal, then it was blank.

  Marlies exhaled. “She’s right, Hans. I was a coward.”

  His green eyes blazed. “We can do this. I know we can.”

  “Hans, she didn’t ask you.”

  “But I fled, too. Ezaara and Tomaaz are our children. We—”

  “I have to do this, Hans. We’ve no choice. I can’t sneak you and Tomaaz into Death Valley, and you know he won’t stay here on his own. I have to go alone.” Marlies whipped her knife out of her belt, brandishing it in the air. “I will fulfill your quest, Zaarusha, and reclaim our daughter,” she called, throwing the knife. It sank to the hilt in the ancient piaua trunk, sap oozing out around the blade. “As the forest marks my words, we will be reunited.”

  Her oath, sealed with piaua sap, was binding.

  Feet tromped through the trees, crunching the underbrush.

  Hans spun. “It’s Tomaaz.”

  Thank the Egg, Hans had dragon sight. It gave her a few moments to prepare. But how could she tell their son? After all these years, how could she admit what she’d done?