“Keep moving,” 568 growled, hurrying him along.
They were trying to catch him out. He shambled along, as if he couldn’t go any faster.
“Faster,” Burnt Face roared.
Tomaaz ignored it.
They rounded the last corner in the waning light. The entrance to Maazini’s cave was shrouded in shadow. The dragon was nowhere to be seen. Tomaaz’s neck hair prickled. It was a dead end. The only way out was on dragonback.
Moving forward like a numlocked slave, Tomaaz staggered to the mouth of the cave, holding out his shovel of rats.
Burnt Face hung back, pushing Wiry forward. “You! Go too.”
With the tracker breathing down his neck, Tomaaz’s chest was tight. He threw the rats. They thudded to the stone. With a roar, Maazini leaped out of his cave, brilliant orange, his chain rattling.
Wiry twitched.
“Coward,” barked Burnt Face. “It’s chained up.”
“It’s orange! Not numlocked,” Wiry snapped, lunging at Tomaaz.
With a roar, Maazini flew at Wiry. Dropping his spade, Tomaaz ducked and rolled. Maazini swung his leg at Wiry’s head. The chain whipped around the tracker’s neck. With a yank, Maazini pulled it tight, strangling the tharuk. Maazini kicked out. Wiry flew through the air, his corpse knocking Burnt Face to the ground.
Maazini pounced on another tharuk, crushing it with his jaws and flaming its corpse.
“Get them!” yelled Burnt Face, jumping to its feet.
Scrambling up, Tomaaz snatched his shovel and hefted it in front of him as a tharuk charged. He whacked the brute in the neck, but the shovel blade bounced off.
The beast swiped with its claws, raking Tomaaz’s side. His ribs stinging from a flesh wound, he danced away, swinging his spade again. Shards! If only he had his sword.
“Their matted fur’s like armor,” Maazini melded. “Try its head. Fur’s thinner there.”
Another tharuk ran at Maazini. The dragon pounced, shredding the tharuk’s torso with his talons, spilling its stinking guts.
568 lunged at him. Raising his shovel high, Tomaaz brought it crashing onto the monster’s skull. It stumbled, then lunged again, scratching his face. Tomaaz whacked its head again.
Groggy, the beast reeled and fell. Tomaaz brought his shovel smashing onto its head one last time, and the beast lay still.
Everything had gone quiet. Panting, Tomaaz looked up.
Burnt Face was facing him, bow nocked, with an arrow pointing straight at his heart—an arrow dripping with green grunge. Limplock.
Maazini was silent, crouched near the cavern, haunches tense, his green eyes slits. His tail twitched. Tomaaz’s heart pounded as his eyes flitted from Maazini to Burnt Face.
“Beast move and male dies. Zens play with him.” Burnt Face laughed, his tusks gleaming in the last rays of the sun.
Shards, the sun was setting! Pa was on the far hills. No chance of getting there, now.
Maazini’s low growl bounced off the canyon walls. The tharuk overseer increased the tension on his bow.
Oh gods, this was it.
With a shout, the boy ran out of the cavern, rushing at Burnt Face. Eyes wide in surprise, the tharuk swung its bow toward the boy. No! Tomaaz closed his eyes. There was a hiss of an arrow releasing.
No! Not the boy. Tomaaz’s eyes flew open.
Burnt Face was toppling to the ground, an arrow embedded deep in its eye.
Ma ran out of the cavern, her rucksack and quiver on her back, and her bow in hand. “Quick, Tomaaz! Get on Maazini! Grab the boy.”
Tomaaz scooped up the lad, running to the dragon, and threw him up onto Maazini’s back. Ma was in bad shape, breathing hard. He gave her a leg up behind the boy, and then climbed up in front and clung to Maazini’s spinal ridge. Skinny arms wrapped tight around Tomaaz’s waist.
“Hold on.” Tomaaz called. “Fly, Maazini, fly.”
The hills were swarming with tharuks. Beasts were vaulting over rocks, charging down the sides of the canyon toward them.
Tensing his haunches, the dragon sprang, flapping his wings. “I’m not so strong,” Maazini said. “Numlock, no food for weeks …”
They slowly gained height, but Maazini was right, he wasn’t strong. The combined weight of the three of them was too much. Melded, Tomaaz could feel Maazini straining, the drag on his muscles. The tips of his wings were dangerously close to the canyon walls.
Arrows hissed past Tomaaz. “Oh, shards, Maazini! Their arrows are limplocked. Don’t let them hit you!”
Maazini swerved toward the opposite wall, tilting. The boy’s arms tightened around his waist. Tomaaz hung on as the chain on Maazini’s leg whipped out toward the hillside.
With a roar, a tharuk leaped off the hill, grabbing the chain. Maazini lurched, losing height. He beat his wings desperately as they plummeted toward the canyon floor. With a roar, he strained upward. Slowly, too slowly, they gained height. Tharuk arrows zipped past them.
Maazini grunted. Melded, Tomaaz felt his dragon’s searing pain. “Are you all right?”
“Arrow. Chest,” Maazini replied, tipping from side to side.
“It’s not far, just to that ridge. Pa will meet us.” But what then? How could Maazini ever make the arduous flight back to Dragons’ Hold?
“Tomaaz, below,” came Ma’s urgent cry.
He whipped his head around. What? Maazini lurched again. Then Tomaaz saw it. Climbing up Maazini’s chain was a tharuk, a knife between its teeth. Its red eyes gleamed as it pulled itself up the chain. “Maazini, tharuk on your chain!”
“I … know …” Even Maazini’s thoughts sounded weak.
§
The tharuk was clambering up the chain, pulling the dragon off center and dragging him down. The hillsides were swarming. If she didn’t act soon, Marlies could kiss her son and Zaarusha’s goodbye, and forget about saving this slave boy, too. As soon
