“Kill the shrotty beast,” Pa gasped.
Peeking between some rocks at the watchtower, Tomaaz aimed an arrow, sighting the tharuk on the platform, and released.
Surprise flashed across the beast’s face, then Tomaaz’s arrow went through its eye into its skull. The tharuk toppled over the low wall and its body bounced down the slope.
“I’ve told Handel I’m hurt,” Pa moaned between labored breaths.
Down the mountainside, Handel’s bronze wings appeared.
Tomaaz dragged Pa further behind the rubble pile. The arrow was lodged in Pa’s chest, above his heart. If it had been any closer …
Handel landed out of sight below the rubble heap. Tomaaz raced down, grabbed healing supplies from Handel’s saddlebag and returned.
He gripped the arrow and snapped it off. Giving Pa the shaft to bite on, he dug out the tip with his knife. A fleshy sucking sound tore from Pa’s chest as he wrenched the arrowhead free.
Pa pointed at the arrowhead, smeared with blood and green grunge. “Poison.” He grunted. “Clean the wound.”
Poison! Tomaaz stared at Pa’s wound. Green slime coated the hole left by the arrow. Familiar slime—the same stuff that had been in the knife wound on Lovina’s cheek. “What does it do?” Panic edged his words. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, and rubbed at the slime. “It’s in deep.”
“I know.” Pa grimaced. “It’s limplock. Dissolves in the bloodstream. Fever, nausea and gradual paralysis over five days. Try water.”
Paralysis? Lovina! Her curled fingers and aching limbs. His head reeled.
By the time Tomaaz had snatched the waterskin, the stuff had mixed with Pa’s blood, turning it muddy brown. He splashed water over the wound, then tried to staunch the bleeding with a wad of torn shirt.
“Son.” Pa stayed his hand. “The antidote’s in Ana’s pouch.” Breath short, he fumbled with his pocket. “Vial. Yellow.”
Cries rose from the other side of the tower. Killing the tharuk had been a dumb move. More of them were snarling over the ridge.
Tomaaz tugged the pouch out of Pa’s pocket and yanked it open, picking out a vial of yellow granules. “It’s a quarter full. How much do you need?”
“One vial would cure me. This might get me back to Dragons’ Hold.”
“Y-you’re going?”
Pa gave a shaky smile. “Save your mother.” He squeezed Tomaaz’s hand. “The vision wasn’t of me helping Marlies. Only you. Now I … know why.”
Tomaaz tipped the yellow granules into Pa’s mouth, then he wadded a strip of his shirt over the wound and tied another strip across Pa’s chest. He helped Pa onto Handel, strapping him into the saddle.
Guttural roars ripped through the air. Much closer. Tharuks!
Tomaaz slapped Handel’s rump. “Go, Handel. Fly!” He dashed to the rubble heap, squeezing into a gap under some large boulders, and watched Pa and Handel winging high into the sky.
A tharuk yelled nearby, making Tomaaz flinch. “Over here. An arrow and rags.”
“Got away on stinking dragon,” replied another. “Filthy thing.”
Through a crack between the rocks, Tomaaz watched the tharuks pick up the cloth, sniffing it. “Lots of limplock! Good. Another dead rider. 515 mixes limplock strong.”
The other tharuk grabbed the arrow. “He be dead in two days. Rutting rider.”
“Where’s 515?”
“Dead as stone. Fell down the cliff. Stupid worm. Got shot by dragon scum.” They guffawed.
“I have his bed.”
“I take his slaves.”
“No. Last time—”
Tomaaz shut out their crude bickering. Pa had said five days, but he was wrong. He’d be dead in two. Pa had no chance of getting to Dragons’ Hold. No chance of more antidote. And what about Lovina? They hadn’t realized she’d been poisoned. Had she found someone to treat her? Or had she died on the way? His mouth was coated in fine dust, making it hard to swallow.
He shoved his dark thoughts away. He had to believe Pa could get help. Had to believe Lovina was still alive. Ma was relying on him. He was the only one who could help her now.
§
Tomaaz didn’t dare sleep for fear of tharuks finding him in the rubble pile. Thank the Egg, he had Pa’s freshweed to save him from being caught. Under the cover of darkness, he left his bow and quiver in the rubble pile, and ate a clear-mind berry and some dragon’s scale. Then he made his way down the barren hillsides, hiding behind boulders and traveling along ravines. No wonder they called this place Death Valley—nothing grew here except the odd scraggly bush. In the predawn gray, the whole place was bleak, not that the sun would make it look much better.
He stumbled along a ravine toward the main valley. An acrid odor hung in the air, and tendrils of fog leaked from splits in the cliffs. Breathing the stuff made his throat scratchy. As he neared the mouth of the ravine, the tromp of feet echoed off the valley walls. Stifling a cough, Tomaaz crouched behind a rock. Shards, he had to get this tickle in his throat under control or he’d give himself away.
A tharuk appeared around a bend, a group of slaves trailing it. They had to be slaves. They had that awful blank stare Lovina used to have, but worse. They shuffled forward, unsteady on their skinny legs. Wearing tatters, many of them limped or had festering sores. Their faces were the worst: hollowed out and empty.
A tharuk behind the group cracked a whip, raising a puff of dust. None of the slaves flinched.
Living with numlock had to be hell. To think, Lovina had—
A boy about his age stumbled and sprawled in the dust. The whip-bearing tharuk bellowed and turned away to yank the boy to his feet.
Now was his chance. Tomaaz darted into the crowd. Not a single slave glanced at him as he walked with them, letting his shoulders sag and his jaw hang loose.
