Pa placed a hand on his shoulder. “Son, how can we help?”
Lofty crouched next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, tell us what to do.”
Years of healing at his mother’s side kicked in. Tomaaz took off his jerkin, tearing what was left of it into strips. “Lofty, get me a short straight branch, about the length of her arm. Pa, cover her with something warm.”
Pa strode to a huge saddlebag on the side of the dragon and came back with a blanket. He tucked it around Lovina’s torso and felt her forehead. He sloshed some water from a waterskin into a mug and crumbled herbs into it, then took it to his dragon, who warmed the water with a small flame. Pa bundled another blanket under Lovina’s head, and gave Tomaaz a pot of healing salve. “I’ll give Lofty a hand with that branch. The sooner we can splint her arm, the better.”
Tomaaz lifted the cup to Lovina’s lips.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Tomaaz?”
“It’s all right, Lovina. Bill’s gone. I’m here.”
A Narrow Escape
Marlies traipsed on through the dark, keeping to the goat track zigzagging among the trees in a steep climb. That chimney Giant John had sent her through, full of cobwebs and slithering things, hadn’t been used in an age. It was good to be out of that shrotty wagon, breathing fresh air again. The moon slid above the tree line as if it had been waiting to greet her, reflecting off the snow higher up the mountain.
Were her family in danger? Was Ezaara fighting tharuks with Zaarusha? What about Hans and Tomaaz in Lush Valley? The beacon fire on the Western Pass had warned of an attack. She’d killed three tharuks at Nick’s inn, but how many more were coming? She shivered, and it was nothing to do with the biting northern wind. Tharuks were smothering the people of Dragons’ Realm like a thick suffocating blanket of evil, robbing innocents of free will and life. They were a scourge, a monstrosity created by a sick man. And she was heading straight to his lair.
In all her battles for the realm, she’d only seen Zens a few times, but every time, he’d made her blood run cold.
The trees along the track thinned and the mountainside grew steeper. Marlies pressed on. If she could make Devil’s Gate when no tharuks were around … but she had no way of knowing what their movements were.
High above the tree line, looking over the Flatlands, Marlies swung her rucksack off her shoulder and took a deep draft from her waterskin. Here and there, between the dark carpet of Great Spanglewood Forest, the mighty Tooka River ran silver. By day, she’d see the distant peaks of the Grande Alps surrounding Lush Valley to the east, but the night had swallowed every trace of her family home. It was as if Lush Valley didn’t exist and the last eighteen years had been erased. Here she was again, on a solo quest for Zaarusha.
No, she had killed the dragonet. And the new life she’d made had been shattered by her past.
An eerie howl rippled through the night. Wolves—in the trees behind her.
Shards! She was low on freshweed, so she’d skipped taking it and they’d picked up her scent. She was too far up the trail to run back to a tree. Marlies snatched a rope from her rucksack and sprinted up the hill, keeping an eye on the rocky mountainside.
Thank the Egg, the moon was up or she’d have no chance. There, that outcrop above the trail looked solid enough. She ran toward it, a howl sending gooseflesh along her arms. Marlies tied a dragon’s hitch in the end of the rope and threw it at the outcrop.
And missed. The rope hit the ground.
A wolf ran out of the trees, growling. A lone wolf. Was it sick or crazed?
She threw the rope again. It sailed over the outcrop and caught. Oh shards, the wolf was getting closer, its gray pelt a flash against the dark trail. She tugged, tightening the hitch around the jutting rock. The wolf was so close, she could hear it panting.
Grabbing the rope, Marlies swarmed up the cliff. The wolf leaped, and its nose bumped her boot.
The wolf tensed its haunches, jumping again.
Thrusting her feet against the cliff, Marlies pulled hard with her arms, gaining height. There was a jolt that nearly yanked her arms out of their sockets. Marlies slammed against the rock, winding herself. The wolf was swinging in midair, growling, its jaws clamped on the rope. Foam speckled its jawline. It was crazed. If her hands were free, she could shoot it, but with it hanging onto her rope, she couldn’t even tie herself up to free her hands. Marlies planted her feet against the rock face and hung on.
The wolf wasn’t half as clever. It writhed and bucked in midair, thrashing its limbs.
Her arms burned. It was a sheer drop to a narrow trail then the valley below. If the wolf didn’t finish her, the mountainside would. “Steady,” she called, “or you’ll have us both dead.”
The wolf growled, its eyes mean slits.
Gradually, it stopped thrashing and hung on, its dead weight making Marlies’ arms shriek with pain. This was beyond burning, beyond sore, her arm, shoulder and neck muscles spasmed, begging her to let go. It was only a matter of time.
The wolf dropped to the ground, snarling, and sat on the trail, waiting.
Marlies held onto the rope and, with the other hand, she pulled the rest of the rope up, jamming it between her knee and the cliff face. She rested for a moment, then freed her knife from her belt and hacked off the soggy end of
