Riders of Fire Box Set Page 8

  At the swish of wings, Roberto turned from his students. Zaarusha and Ezaara were arriving. Ezaara’s ankle mustn’t be that bad if she’d managed to get onto her dragon alone. He was a fool for staying up all night, crafting a cane for that girl. And for risking strife with his sister. He shrugged. It wasn’t as if Ma needed her cane anymore.

  Zaarusha landed on the grass between the plum trees with a soft whump. Ezaara winced. So, her ankle was hurting. He had been a fool—fooled by her bravado.

  The dragon queen strolled closer to the class.

  The students’ whispers were like leaves in the breeze.

  “Quiet, please,” Roberto said. “Show proper respect to the Queen’s Rider.” How was Ezaara going to dismount?

  Zaarusha lay on the grass. Ezaara swung a leg over the dragon’s back, then rolled onto her belly and held onto Zaarusha’s spinal ridge with one hand, letting her body slide down the dragon’s side until she was fully extended. Her cane was gripped in her other hand.

  No, not with a swollen ankle. Roberto wanted to drop his history text, race over and catch her, but that wouldn’t do, not with everyone watching. He set his book aside and strolled over. Of course, before he got there, Ezaara let go. She landed heavily on her good leg, letting out an agonized grunt. Facing away from them, Ezaara leaned against Zaarusha’s side. She thrust her cane into the ground, her back rising and falling rapidly.

  Ouch. He approached cautiously. “My Honored Queen’s Rider, are you hurt?” he asked softly.

  “I’m fine,” she hissed, not turning around. “Continue with your class. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  “As you wish.” It was all he could do not to reach out and help her. If only the foolish girl had called for Erob. Smaller than Zaarusha, he was much easier to ride. Roberto strode back to the class. “I want the names of five of the realm’s most important dragon riders and their dragons.”

  “Erob and Roberto,” Kierion called.

  “Enough flattery, Kierion,” Roberto said. “I mean the important riders to the realm, not to you passing this class.”

  His students laughed.

  “Lars and Singlar.”

  Roberto nodded. “That’s more like it.”

  “Zaarusha and Anakisha, the last Queen’s Rider.”

  “But now it’s Ezaara and Zaarusha.” The students’ heads turned as they watched Ezaara hobble over. Behind her, Zaarusha flew off.

  “Please welcome our Honored Queen’s Rider,” Roberto said.

  Roberto observed Ezaara as his students greeted her. She was hurt, all right. Worse than this morning. So headstrong and stubborn. She was Queen’s Rider, for the Egg’s sake, and tharuks were attacking. War was coming soon. She had to be fit to lead them.

  Unable to sit on the grass, Ezaara leaned her back against a tree, taking the weight off her injured leg. She wouldn’t last long like that, and it was only early. He should have had Erob bring a stool for her.

  “Come on,” Roberto asked, distracting the class from staring at the new Queen’s Rider, “two more examples of the realm’s most important dragon riders and their dragons.”

  “King Syan and Yanir,” Mathias called.

  “Master Tonio and Antonika?” Sofia said.

  “Yes, our spymaster is very important to the safety of Dragons’ Realm,” Roberto said. “Could someone explain the naming convention between dragons and riders?” Coming from Lush Valley, Ezaara had probably never heard of it.

  Mathias answered. “The dragon’s and rider’s names share a common syllable. My sister’s dragon took on a new name when they bonded.”

  “Ma renamed my brother after a dragon that was seeking a rider, then one day they imprinted.”

  Roberto frowned. Had Ezaara’s parents deliberately named her so she had a syllable in common with Zaarusha? “It’s not only names we share with our dragons, but some of their characteristics,” he said. “Can you give me some examples, please?”

  Kierion raised his hand. “You asked about characteristics, sir. Over years, the rider’s eye color changes to match the eyes of their dragon.”

  “So, Kierion would lose his pretty eyes if he became a rider?” Sofia called.

  Kierion rolled his ocean-gray eyes, flecked with blue, and mock-groaned. “Not much chance of me being a rider.”

  Always playing pranks and getting into trouble, Kierion hadn’t been selected by the council as a trainee rider.

  “Enough,” said Roberto. “Any other characteristics that you know of?”

  Leah raised her hand. Unusual. She was usually too shy to answer. “Sir, they say the spymaster has excellent hearing from his dragon.”

  “Too true.” Roberto winked. “Be careful; he’s listening right now. They say even these plum trees work for him.”

  Laughter rippled through the class.

  “Anything else?”

  “Prophecy?”

  It was more a question than answer. Not surprising, given the lack of accurate prophecy at Dragons’ Hold nowadays. Roberto had a theory on that, but he needed evidence. Keeping an eye on Ezaara, he continued. “Our dragons’ mental or emotional talents are passed to us. This can happen at imprinting or over time as we bond more deeply. Strengths of the rider can also pass to the dragon.”

  A student stretched his hand high.

  “Yes?”

  “What strengths have you passed to Erob?” asked the tousled-haired lad.

  There was no way he’d be telling them about his particular strengths. “Fishing.”

  “Perhaps you could teach us to fish, too, instead of this stuff,” Kierion called.

  The class laughed.

  “Now, tell us what a rider of fire is.”

  “That’s easy,” Kierion blurted. “Riders of fire can harness dragon energy to use their talents.”

  “Exactly. We’ll talk more about that next lesson.” Roberto glanced at Ezaara. Her face was pale.

  Erob, in the grass under some nearby trees, broke through his thoughts, “Zaarusha is requesting the Queen’s Rider.”

  “We’ll be there right away,” Roberto melded back. Good—the perfect excuse to get Ezaara out of class.

  §

  “Ezaara, wake up.”

  “Zaarusha, is that you?”

  No answer. The torch was low. It must be late. Leaning on her stick, Ezaara made her way out to Zaarusha’s den, but the queen wasn’t there.

  “Ezaara.” There it was again—deep, melodious and unfamiliar. “Come outside.”

  She hobbled to the mouth of the den. The valley was peaceful, shrouded in darkness, moonlight catching on the tips of the Alps.

  “Look up.”

  A bronze dragon was circling down toward Zaarusha’s den.

  “I saw you at my imprinting test,” she melded. “Who are you?”

  “Handel is my name.” His talons clattered on the rock, and he crouched, holding out his leg. “Climb up.”

  Ezaara hesitated.

  “Your father, Hans, was my rider.”

  Pa’s dragon. Wow. “Hans, Handel! I should’ve guessed you were my father’s dragon.”

  “I am. Hans is still my rider—or will be when he returns. Climb on, there’s someone you need to meet.”

  “Pa is returning?”

  “Some day.” Handel supported Ezaara with his tail as she clambered up his leg and settled herself between his spinal ridges. Tensing his enormous haunches, he leaped into the air. The cool night nipped at Ezaara’s bare legs as they climbed up the mountainside to a plateau.

  Moonlight shimmered on the snowy mountain face. No, wait, what was that? The shimmer was coming closer. Ezaara sucked in her breath as a silvery shape materialized from the gloom. Moonlight played on silver scales, making them wink like stars.

  “Did you know your father was the master of prophecy?” Handel asked.

  “No.”

  “And your mother was master healer.” The silver dragon’s voice tinkled like a bell in a breeze. The beast stretched he
r neck out and nudged Ezaara’s shoulder with her snout. “I am Liesar.”

  The dragon closed her turquoise eyes—the same shade as her mother’s—as Ezaara scratched her eye ridges. Liesar, Marlies. “You’re Ma’s dragon.”

  “No, she’s my rider. Dragons are never owned by humans.”

  “Of course.” No one could ever own such wondrous creatures. The wind picked up, making Ezaara shiver.

  “Tell her why she’s here,” Handel said.

  “I must share a memory of your mother’s.”

  A vision rushed through Ezaara’s mind. She was astride Liesar in the middle of the night, Pa’s arms around her middle. The vicious peaks of Dragon’s Teeth rushed past beneath them, then they were swallowed by the night sky.

  “Years ago, your mother accidentally killed one of Zaarusha’s dragonets, so your parents fled from Dragons’ Hold.”

  A transparent golden egg loomed before her, with a purple dragonet floating in it, limbs slack and wings drooping—so perfect, she could see its tiny scales and talons. A wave of sorrow washed through Ezaara, leaving her wrung out and hollow. Bitter wind sliced through her clothing. She trembled, tears stinging her cheeks.

  “You feel your mother’s sorrow at killing the dragonet, and at losing us.”

  The vision changed. Ma and Pa, years younger, were hugging Liesar’s neck, faces pinched with anxiety as they parted. Ezaara’s chest grew tight.

  “You’re feeling your mother’s emotions,” Liesar said. “That’s the last time I saw them. It took Zaarusha years to understand that the dragonet gave its life willingly to bless your mother with fertility.”

  Handel melded. “Usually a rider can only meld with their dragon, but you can meld with other dragons. This was one of the dying royal dragonet’s gifts to you.”

  “I never wanted a dragonet to die for me. Will Tomaaz, my twin brother, have this gift too?”

  “You have a twin? Zaarusha hasn’t mentioned him.” Handel’s tail twitched.

  Liesar answered, “We’ll have to seek him out. Perhaps he also has talents.”

  Handel turned his head, his green eyes, the same shade as Pa’s, drilling through Ezaara. “You hold the key to the future of Dragons’ Realm.”

  The key? She hadn’t met a dragon until a week ago.

  “Handel and I are leaving tonight to collect your father.” Liesar tilted her head. “We’ll collect your brother too.”

  “So, I’ll see my family? Here?” Ezaara couldn’t help grinning.

  “Marlies is elsewhere,” said Liesar.

  “She has to find Zaarusha’s son.” Handel’s voice was grave. “Once she’s proven her loyalty, she may return.”

  Ezaara took a deep breath. “Is she in danger?”

  “Not yet,” Liesar replied. That didn’t sound promising. “Handel, we must leave. I’ll meet you near the hunting grounds.” With a flip of her wings, Liesar soared away.

  Handel was airborne in moments. Ezaara hugged his spinal ridge as dizzying visions flashed before her.

  She saw herself in the main cavern the night she’d arrived, hair unkempt and face streaked with dirt. Roberto, lip curled in disdain, placed his hands at her temples. She collapsed, and he caught her, a rare softness flashing across his features.

  A surge of energy flowed through Ezaara as more images from Handel flitted through her head: tharuks killing and maiming people; dragons blasting their enemies with fire; her falling and Zaarusha diving to save her; Tomaaz looking worn and sick; Ma unconscious, battered and bruised; Roberto, face twisted with hate, lunging at her, making her heart thud and breath catch in her throat.

  “Handel. Stop!” she screamed.

  The images subsided.

  “What was that?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Usually ancient dragon magic only lets me share prophecies with my rider, or with one whom it concerns. This rush of visions came, unbidden. Perhaps it’s because you’re the Queen’s Rider and the fate of our nation hangs on your actions and Zaarusha’s.”

  Hopefully these prophecies weren’t fate. Tomaaz had looked gaunt and thin. Ma was obviously dying. And with the way Roberto had looked, who’d need enemies?

  “The future can change, depending on people’s decisions. When I know more, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone that you can meld with any dragon.” Handel clattered down on the mouth of Zaarusha’s den. “Be careful, my Queen’s Rider.”

  Ezaara slid down his side. After seeing his visions, how could she know who to trust?

  Knife’s Edge

  Ezaara leaned heavily on her cane. “How much further to the mess cavern?”

  “Just around this corner.” Adelina paused. “Wait, I’ve got something in my boot.” She bent and undid her laces.

  Ezaara suppressed a smile. “Adelina, I know there’s nothing in your boot. They’re laced too tightly for anything to get in. You’re making excuses again to spare my ankle. Yesterday, when you said you needed the latrine, you forgot to go.”

  Adelina’s cheeks flushed. “I— um.” She grinned. “All right, I’m a lousy actor, but you need a rest. You have to impress the masters and the other riders.”

  Ezaara grimaced. “Too late for that, isn’t it? Everyone saw me fall flat on my backside at the feast.”

  “They saw you fly a loop, too. Don’t forget that.”

  “Come on, let’s get my next blundering entrance over with.”

  Adelina giggled.

  Ezaara smoothed her riding jerkin with her free hand, and they walked around the corner.

  The mess cavern was a babbling hubbub of voices, more crowded than Lush Valley’s square on market day. Ezaara recognized some of the masters, seated among riders at jam-packed tables. Her stomach grumbled as she helped herself to freshly-baked bread and spicy soup.

  A woman rushed over, Simeon at her heels. Wisps of her blonde hair were haloed in light streaming from holes in the cavern walls. Simeon introduced her. “Ezaara, this is my mother, Master Healer, Fleur.”

  Ma’s old role.

  Fleur bowed. “My Queen’s Rider, how’s your ankle?”

  “It’s all right,” Ezaara replied. The last thing she wanted was more fuss.

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Simeon winked behind his mother’s back. At least he understood.

  Fleur patted Ezaara’s arm. “Simeon can pop by later to check you have everything you need. He often helps me in the infirmary and knows how to treat sprains.”

  Adelina gave Fleur an overly-effusive smile. “That won’t be necessary. The Queen’s Rider’s ankle will be better in no time.” She turned her back on Fleur and Simeon, gesturing to a nearby table. “Why don’t you get a seat, Ezaara, and I’ll bring your lunch.”

  “Please, let me help you.” Simeon took Ezaara’s arm.

  It was a lovely gesture. “Thanks, but I can manage. This cane does the trick.”

  His eyes flicked over the carving. “Surely the help of a friend is better than an old stick?”

  Her cane was hardly an old stick—it was a beautiful gift. Before she could respond, murmurs reached her over the clatter of cutlery.

  “Twisted her ankle, silly thing …”

  “She’s too naive, too weak …”

  Ezaara lifted her chin, pretending not to hear. So much for Adelina’s theory—flying a loop hadn’t impressed anyone for long. One fall, and it was forgotten.

  As she sat, a tinkling peal cut through the din. Master Lars was shaking a bell. Everyone quieted, and Lars stood. “I’d like to welcome Ezaara, Honored Rider of Queen Zaarusha. She started classes today and will soon be engaged in full training. I trust you’ll welcome and befriend her, and I wish everyone a pleasant meal.”

  Most of the riders applauded. A few snickered. Across the cavern, Roberto was scowling. She’d never impress him.

  Simeon was attentive during lunch, but Adelina was as bristly as a boar, eating in silence. Soon Ezaara was laughing at Simeon’s anecdotes about livi
ng among dragon riders.

  “So, you’re not a rider yet?” she asked.

  “No, but I’ll imprint soon enough. My parents are both riders, so it’ll happen.” He shredded a bread roll, scattering crumbs on the table. “Gives me more time to train before I have to fight tharuks face-to-face.”

  She shuddered, remembering the battle in the Western Pass. She’d never be good enough to lead an army of dragons and riders against tharuk troops.

  Simeon’s eyes met hers. “I’d love to fight tharuks beside you.”

  Ezaara’s cheeks grew warm. She broke away from his gaze.

  “Enough flirting for today, Ezaara,” Zaarusha melded. “I’m waiting.”

  “Unfair!” she melded back. “I’m not the one flirting. He is.”

  “But you are enjoying it.”

  Adelina snatched up Ezaara’s empty bowl. “You won’t be fighting until you imprint, Simeon. Your dreams of glory will have to wait. My Honored Queen’s Rider, I believe we need to get to knife throwing practice.”

  §

  Ezaara was sitting with Simeon again, laughing at his smarmy jokes. Although she wasn’t in immediate danger, Roberto had the irrational desire to wipe the smile off Simeon’s face with his fist.

  While Adelina was clearing the bowls, Roberto stepped into the space beside Ezaara’s seat. “My Honored Queen’s Rider.” He felt stiff, stilted, as if he had a broomstick strapped to his back. “Please allow me to accompany you to knife throwing.”

  He led her away without offering her his arm. He wouldn’t make her look weak in front of everyone, the way Simeon had. He swept out of the door, a little too fast, just to prove she could manage on her own. “Erob says Zaarusha is—”

  “On the ledge,” Ezaara interrupted. “She already told me.”

  “Of course.” Shards, that was silly of him.

  Soon they were airborne, Ezaara seated in front of him. The scent of her hair reminded him of dandelions; of summer days outdoors, running in the paddocks with his dog, Razo—before his father had changed. He shook his head to jolt his bad memories away as they descended to the knife-throwing range.