“Then stick with me,” Hans said, swinging his sword at another beast.
Paolo stuck a tharuk in the arm, but it wasn’t enough. The beast swiped with his free claws, sending the lad flying, then picked up Paolo’s sword and tossed it aside. It towered over the chalk-faced boy. Hans leaped over a body and rammed his sword through the beast’s side. The tharuk collapsed on top of Paolo and, this time, Hans left the lad there. He was probably safer hidden under a tharuk than fighting.
Another man went down. This had gone on too long.
“Hans,” Klaus bellowed. He was at the closest end of a line of spear wielders, struggling to keep the monsters at bay.
Near the far building, tharuks pressed forward. The foremost beasts were impaled on spears, but others pushed on, trampling their bodies and the fighters. Hans ran, sword out, watching in horror as his men screamed, then fell silent as they were crushed by stampeding beasts.
Volleys of arrows flew. Some tharuks fell, but more rushed over them, pouring through the gap.
“Retreat, retreat, they’ve breached the square!” He ran to retrieve Paolo, but was pushed back, in a crush of bodies, toward the square. “To me, to me!” he bellowed.
Klaus surged through the pandemonium, tossing aside a tharuk, but was swept up, alongside Hans.
When they arrived at the square, they tried, again, to form a front line.
“To us,” Klaus yelled. “Regroup! Over here.”
A ragtag bunch of fighters regrouped, but within moments they were shoved aside, each fighting isolated battles amid a sea of tharuks.
They had no chance. Absolutely no chance.
But at least Hans could take a few tharuks with him before he died. Ezaara, Marlies and Tomaaz flashed to mind. He hoped they were safe, but somehow, he wasn’t sure anymore.
He hacked into the mass of fur in front of him.
Then, as if by magic, his arm was stronger. He swung his sword with more confidence. His legs moved faster, his mind was less sluggish. It was as if … “Handel?”
“On my way.”
The warmth of his dragon’s thoughts flooded Hans, giving him courage. If they could mind-meld, Handel must be close. He rammed his sword into a tharuk and hewed down another. “For Dragons’ Realm!” he bellowed. “Stand strong and fight these beasts.” The increased surge of energy came from Handel. Fire blazed in Hans’ veins, and he slew tharuks with renewed vigor.
“I hope you have company,” he mind-melded with Handel.
“Two full troops of blue guards.”
At last, they had a fighting chance.
Wheeling blue dragons created shadows over the square with their enormous wingspans as riders shot arrows into screeching tharuks. Swathes of flame cut down tharuks that were chasing women and children.
Hans battled a huge tharuk, ducking claws and lunging away from the brute’s tusks, his hair ruffling in the downdraft of the dragons’ wingbeats. Funny that—the movement of his hair, right in the middle of battle. It felt so familiar, so right. Why in the Egg’s name had he and Marlies hidden for so long in this backwater? This is what made him feel alive: dragon power singing in his veins; the knowledge he was needed to save lives. Never again would he hide for fear of repercussion. He’d gladly face Zaarusha, take her condemnation, and prove to her that he could still be true to the realm.
“To us!” Hans bellowed.
Lush Valley fighters took courage, joining Hans and Klaus, forming lines that blocked the streets. In the square, dragons flamed tharuks until they were piles of smoking flesh and char. That old familiar stench of burning fur hung in the air.
This was what he and Marlies were born for, not farming and living in terror of ever seeing a dragon again.
But not all Lush Valley citizens took cheer at seeing the dragons. Some ran squealing, looking for cover. Others were gibbering about the evil stinking dragons that were going to eat them.
Klaus shot Hans a grim look. “I was wrong, Hans.”
Hans nodded, piercing the chin of a tharuk, leaping back as it fell. “Your father raised you that way, Klaus.”
Klaus jabbed a tharuk with his spear, driving it back. Curiosity crept over his face. “So, my grandpa really was a dragon rider?”
A burst of flame hit a nearby tharuk. “Busy chatting, are you?”
Hans looked up, his breath catching. The last rays of sunrise hit his dragon’s bronze scales, making them gleam like treasure. His throat ached at Handel’s beauty.
“You’re right, I am treasure. Nice to see you again, Hans.”
“And you, too.” A gust of Handel’s affection blew through him, warming him. “I thought you’d be angry at me for leaving.”
“For a few years, I was. But lately, I’d been hoping I’d find you again. Your daughter has created quite a stir.” One of Handel’s memories shot through Hans’ mind: Ezaara flying a loop on Zaarusha, the crowd below transfixed, with those fierce mountain peaks of Dragon’s Teeth standing guard in the background.
“Gods, I’ve missed Ezaara. And Dragons’ Hold.”
“Not for long. The blue guards will sort this mess out. You and I have places to be.” Handel swooped.
“Klaus, the dragons want me to go,” Hans said.
“My grandfather was a dragon rider,” Klaus said, “so I’m sure I’ll handle this. Just go.”
Hans jammed his sword in his scabbard. Handel grasped his shoulders with strong talons, lifting him above the battle. Hans hung on, letting out a loud whoop. “It’s great to be back in the saddle.”
“You’re not in the saddle yet. Give me a chance.” Handel’s chuckle fluttered through his mind.
Below, people and tharuks looked up, staring. “Keep fighting!” Hans bellowed. “Handel, I should stay, help them. I can’t abandon them now.”
“What could you achieve that two troops of blue guards
