000 guffawed, just as keen as him to unleash their new lovelies on Dragons’ Realm.
§
A young boy was working next to Tomaaz in the latrine pits that day. He was slow, stumbling under the weight of the dirt. Young, but so weak and wasted.
“Faster,” 568 barked.
The boy twitched, dropping half his dirt, then scrambled to get it back onto his spade.
“Haul him out,” 568 called to Burnt Face.
Burnt Face dragged the boy out of the ditch, bellowing, “Boss said, work faster. Do it.” The tharuk sent the boy sprawling into the ditch, then jumped in after him, raking his back with its long claws.
Tomaaz bit back a gasp.
Four gashes slashed the boy’s back, blood seeping into his ragged shirt.
Dark spittle flew from Burnt Face’s tusks. “Get moving. Work faster. All of you.”
Tomaaz bent to dig, keeping an eye on the boy. Whenever the tharuks’ backs were turned, he steadied the lad to stop him falling. Soon the lower half of the boy’s shirt was drenched in red. Splatters covered his breeches. Ragged breaths hissing from his chest, the boy kept digging. The tharuks ignored him, targeting other slaves.
Tomaaz’s gut churned. Tomorrow he’d escape, leaving all these poor folk behind. Most of them would be dead within moons. It didn’t matter to Zens. He’d just send his raiding parties out to abduct more.
If he got to Dragons’ Hold with Maazini, Tomaaz would petition Maazini’s mother, the dragon queen, to save these people.
That evening when he fed Maazini, Ma showed him the chain. “I’ve sawed halfway through the metal loop that hooks it to the wall,” she said. “If tharuks come, Maazini will stop them from getting in here to check, and tomorrow, I’ll keep sawing. When is Hans coming?”
“Sunset.” Had she forgotten already? He’d only told her yesterday. She was still pale, with dark smudges under her eyes. Her face was gaunt. Those piaua berries had knocked her about badly.
“I’ll take care of her,” Maazini melded, sending a wave of affection through him.
Feeling Maazini’s powerful emotions every time they melded was amazing, but it took some getting used to. Tomaaz rubbed the dragon’s snout and went back to the sleeping hut.
That night, Tomaaz was woken by whimpers. A puppy? He rubbed his eyes. No, he was in Death Valley. There were no puppies here.
In the sputtering candlelight, he glanced about the hut. The boy who’d had his back raked by Burnt Face was huddled on his pallet, moaning, biting his fist so he wouldn’t make too much noise.
The stomp of tharuks alerted Tomaaz to approaching guards. That was odd. It was taking them longer than usual to get here. A tharuk flung the door open. The whimpering stopped. Tomaaz shut his eyes as the tharuk strode among the pallets, then stomped off, slamming the door behind it. Tomaaz heard it laughing with the other monsters as they continued on patrol. He could hear them better than usual. Weird—unless imprinting had sharpened his hearing. Maybe it was possible. Pa had said dragon riders received talents from their dragons. Maybe great hearing was one of them.
Breath hissed through the boy’s teeth. Moans racked his little body. Poor thing. Tomaaz pulled on his boots and made his way between the pallets to the boy. The littling froze as he approached.
Tomaaz laid a hand on the lad’s shoulder.
He flinched.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Tomaaz whispered. “There’s a healer in Death Valley. Can I take you to her?”
No answer.
The candle hissed and flared. The boy was terrified, the whites of his eyes gleaming.
“It’s all right. I’ll carry you, but we’ll have to be quick.”
The lad gave a sharp nod.
Tomaaz scooped him up, careful not to touch his wounds, and cradled him against his chest. Starved, the boy was lighter than half a sack of carrots. Shards, what he wouldn’t give for a carrot now—or even a bite.
Nudging the door open, Tomaaz peered outside. No tharuks around.
He was halfway through the door when a guttural voice startled him. “Why are you creeping around?”
Tharuk! Tomaaz froze, scanning the valley, but couldn’t see anyone.
“Want to trade? You can have it for six rats.”
Somehow, Maazini had sharpened his hearing. Much further along the valley, to the north, a door to a sleeping hut was ajar. Tharuks were inside talking. He hoped neither were trackers.
“Hungry, are you?” A guffaw. “Two rats. It’s measly. Could find a better one myself.”
“Four rats.”
Hurrying on, Tomaaz kept to the shadows, his pounding heart marking each soft footfall.
There was a snarl. His body tensed. It was just those tharuks, fighting.
The boy’s eyes were wide, fixed on Tomaaz. He was grimacing against the pain, teeth digging into his lip to stop himself crying out.
At last, they were speeding along Maazini’s branch of the valley.
“Tomaaz, I sense you.” It was Maazini mind-melding. “Stick to the shadows. There are tharuks patrolling the hilltops tonight.”
“Shards! That was close. I was about to start running out in the open.”
“Easy does it. Take your time and be stealthy.”
A wave of soothing calm spread through Tomaaz. How did Maazini do that? Calm his emotions and ease his pounding heart?
“Years of training. Stealthy, now.”
Although the boy was light, Tomaaz hadn’t had decent food in days, and he was tiring. Just as he was near the bend, a rock skittered down the hillside above him, landing right next to him. He stopped, waiting in the shadows for what seemed like forever, before he moved on.
Slower than a snail, he made his way toward his waiting dragon, creeping along the hillsides, arms burning with fatigue.
A short distance from Maazini’s cave, the dragon melded again. “They’re gone, but be cautious, just in case.”
“How can you tell?”
“Their scent, but my best sense, by far,
