Flashes of his life appeared before Hans’ eyes: Marlies crumpling in his arms when she’d killed Zaarusha’s dragonet; fleeing Dragons’ Hold; their wonder at their newborn twins; Tomaaz and Ezaara as littlings, laughing; Ezaara’s first arrow hitting a clump of grass; Ezaara and Tomaaz fighting in the marketplace the day Ezaara had imprinted with Zaarusha—the last time he’d seen her; Ana giving him the little pouch; tharuks attacking Lush Valley; Lovina and Tomaaz on Liesar.
“There!” Handel latched onto one of his memories, showing it to him again. “What did she say, Hans? What did Ana say when she gave you that pouch?”
“I don’t know.” A spasm ran across his face. The sun was too bright. All Hans wanted to do was close his eyes and …
“And fall to your death. Hans! Pull yourself together!” Handel roared, the rumble jolting him back to reality. “Ana. Think.”
Ana’s words sprang to mind. “She said, if I’m in a tight corner, to rub the ring and say her name. Her mother was Anakisha.”
“Anakisha’s ring? She gave you a ring of power, Hans. Use it! Now!”
Hans drew in a strangled breath. The pouch, where was it? He fumbled, taking it out of his other pocket. As he was untying the strings, it slipped. He snatched it, cupping it against his leg, and grabbed it with both hands so it wouldn’t drop.
The trees below were tiny twigs against a ribbon of blue.
“Don’t get distracted, Hans, put the ring on.”
Hans jammed it on his finger. “Ana,” he called, rubbing the jade whorls. “Help me.”
The forest, sky and distant ranges disappeared.
Hans and Handel were suspended in a tunnel of billowing clouds, bathed in golden light. A woman moved toward them in a flowing white gown. Strange, she was transparent, the glowing clouds showing through her. As she approached, Hans recognized her.
“Anakisha! I thought you were dead.”
She spoke in his mind. “Zens entered Dragons’ Realm in my reign, so I am trapped in the land between life and death, only able to pass on and join Yanir in the great flying grounds when Zens and his evil are purged from Dragons’ Realm.”
“Where are we?”
“The ring creates a realm gate, similar to a world gate, but you can only travel within Dragons’ Realm.”
The possibilities were endless.
“No, Hans, not endless. Every time a realm gate is used, the walls of the gate grow weaker, creating a ripple in sathir, the energy of life. Zens senses those ripples. If he takes advantage of them and encroaches the walls, he’ll be able to move throughout Dragons’ Realm at will. Imagine the danger.”
Hans swallowed, his throat tight, as another spasm wracked his body.
“Only use the ring in dire circumstances,” Anakisha warned. “Never for convenience.”
“Help, Ezaara!” Handel called. “It’s your father, Hans. He’s dying.”
“It’s no use calling Ezaara, she can’t hear you.” Desperation was making Handel do ridiculous things. His daughter couldn’t meld with a dragon other than Zaarusha.
A dark ripple flashed through a cloud, like lightning in a stormy sky.
“What was that?” Hans asked Anakisha.
“A crack in the wall. Hurry. Where do you want to go?”
“Dragons’ Hold.” Gods, he could hardly hold on.
“Safe travels,” Anakisha said.
With a loud crack, the glowing clouds disappeared and Hans and Handel were suddenly above Dragons’ Hold.
“Welcome home,” said Handel, satisfaction radiating from him.
Hans was about to reply, but he blacked out.
§
Ma’s body was still warm. Tomaaz’s heart hammered. He held his fingers under her nose. No breath. He felt her neck. No pulse. Dead, dead, dead. Oh Gods, he was too late to save her. A sob burst from his throat. Tomaaz cradled her against his chest, staggering over the dead bodies. Under his boot, a rat squealed and scurried deeper into the pile. He shuddered. He couldn’t leave Ma here as fodder for rats or carrion birds. He half-slid down the flesh pile, his mind in a frenzy. He had to get her out of here. Take her somewhere. Give her a decent burial.
There was plenty of dirt near the latrine pits. No! No! He wasn’t burying Ma near a pile of human excrement. Not anywhere here. He’d take her back to Lush Valley. Wait for Pa, and take her back. But where could he hide her until then?
Tomaaz’s boots hit solid ground. Backhanding tears, he slung Ma over his shoulder and picked up his shovel. As long as he was feeding the beast, he’d have freedom. He snorted. Confinement to a lousy valley under duress was not freedom.
He traipsed to the rat pile, his shoulders bowed under Ma’s weight. Dark sorrow clogged his throat, making his breath come in gasps. Thank the Egg, the rat tharuk had finished duty. Scooping rats onto his shovel, Tomaaz headed toward the main valley. He’d tell any tharuks he saw that Ma was a dead slave; that he’d dump her on the pile once he’d fed the beast. Even so, he stuck to the lengthening shadows.
His legs were boulders, weighing him down. Perhaps Pa was dead, too. Lovina had also been limplocked. And Ezaara? What if everyone he cared about was dead? What then?
Weighed down with his mother’s corpse, Tomaaz trudged up the branch toward the beast’s cave. Although he didn’t encounter any tharuks, he could hear them further along the main valley, whips cracking as they mustered slaves to the sleeping huts.
Rounding the bend, Tomaaz stumbled along to the dead end. The beast growled softly, sticking its head out of its cave as he approached. Barely glancing at the creature, Tomaaz threw the rats at it, then carried Ma into the neighboring cave. Here, she should be safe.
He gently laid Ma on the floor near the far wall. Stroked the matted hair
