A New Path
Tomaaz scrambled out of bed and raced to the slave boy. Eyes still shut, the lad was convulsing and shrieking, sheets twisted around his thrashing limbs. The poor littling hadn’t slept through once since they’d arrived back. In Death Valley, none of the slaves had screamed at night. But then again, they’d been numlocked.
Tomaaz shook the boy awake and gathered the lad in his arms. “It’s all right, you’re safe.” Picking up a blanket, he sat in the chair Hendrik, the master craftsman, had brought them. With curved beams under the legs, it rocked back and forth.
“Perfect for getting babes to sleep,” Hendrik had said.
This boy was no babe, maybe eight or nine summers old, but he was as thin as a twig with legs that looked like they’d snap if the wind blew too hard. The boy shuddered. Tomaaz nestled him close and tucked the blanket around his bony frame. He rocked him, smoothing the hair back from his face.
Those haunted lake-blue eyes stared up at him.
“So, what’s your name?” Tomaaz asked for the hundredth time. Despite being here a few days, the boy still hadn’t spoken. Tomaaz talked to him, telling him stories, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Ma and Pa in the next room. Ma still needed rest, too.
Finally, the boy drifted to sleep. Tomaaz tucked him back into bed and lay down on his own pallet. There were hundreds of slaves, like him, in Death Valley.
§
Tomaaz helped Lovina onto Maazini’s saddle and swung up behind her. “Just a short flight.”
“It’s nice not to be in a saddlebag.” She turned to him, their noses nearly touching, and brushed her lips against his.
“I didn’t expect that.”
She laughed.
“I love your laugh.”
Her face grew warm. No one had ever said anything that nice. “Thank you.”
He wiggled his eyebrows, making her laugh again.
So, this was what happiness felt like, this bubbling inside.
He touched the new scar on her cheek. “All right, Maazini,” he said aloud, “let’s go.” He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her broken arm.
“Wait!” Lovina turned to him again. “Don’t you get flight sick anymore?”
He grinned. “No, I don’t.”
“What happened?”
“Maazini happened. He’s changed my life. And so have you.” Tomaaz patted the dragon’s flank.
Maazini bunched his legs and leaped off the ledge, his wings still furled tight against his sides. They plummeted like a stone, Lovina’s stomach dropping. Then the mighty orange dragon unfurled his wings and caught a warm thermal current, spiraling upward, to carry them high above the valley. Dragons wheeled in the air at the far end of the basin. The wind sifted its fingers through Lovina’s hair.
“Maazini says, welcome to your new home, Lovina.” Tomaaz’s arms tightened around her as they headed across the basin.
The air was fresh. Tomaaz’s warmth was at her back, pristine snow flecked the mountaintops, and a lake glinted below in the forest. Her heart soared.
“Welcome to your new life,” he murmured in her ear.
§
“So, how are you feeling, Master Healer?” Hans asked as they entered their new living quarters, just off the infirmary.
“I’m not sure, Master of Prophecy,” Marlies replied. The weight of her new responsibility had yet to sink in. “Strange, I never thought the council would reinstate us. I thought we’d shattered that egg long ago.”
“So did I.” Hans shrugged. “With the other masters banished, they don’t have much choice.”
“Thanks a lot!” She smiled, hugging him.
He squeezed her hand, then pulled an armchair over for her.
“I’m not an invalid, Hans.”
“No, but now we’re together again, I have a chance to spoil you.”
And to humor her. Mind-melding meant he knew exactly how worn out she was.
Hans produced a paper package from his jerkin pocket and passed it to her.
She unwrapped it. “Oh, Hans, a butter cake?” Her mouth watered.
“Cook said that anyone who rescued Maazini deserves more than a butter cake. Go on, try it.”
She broke a piece off for Hans, then bit into the creamy cake.
“Blue guards are coming,” Liesar announced, breaking into their thoughts. “They’re bringing a man who’s been cut up by tharuks.”
Marlies sprang to her feet. “Hans, prepare a bed, bandages and—”
“I know the drill.”
They ran through the infirmary, Hans stopping to prepare, while Marlies raced out to the ledge. Liesar took to the air. Far off, specks of blue were growing larger—two dragons were approaching.
Liesar flew out to meet them. “Marlies, Hans,” she melded, “it’s Giant John, and he’s pretty gashed up.”
Shards, she’d led him to being hurt. No, she had to stop thinking like this. “Hans, I’m going to need help lifting this one.”
The blue dragon landed. Marlies stared at her gashed and bloody friend. “I hope you’ve got the piaua juice ready,” she said to Hans. “John’s going to need it.”
§
“Order!” Lars, the leader of the Council of the Twelve Dragon Masters, rapped his gavel on the granite table.
Roberto pulled his chair into the horseshoe-shaped table. A few straggling masters took their seats. The new master of prophecy and master healer weren’t here yet. “Where are your parents?” he asked Ezaara.
“Zaarusha says they’re coming.”
Two more seats were empty: those of the recently-murdered masters. “May Shari and Jaevin’s spirits soar with departed dragons,” Roberto melded to Erob.
Erob grunted.
“A matter of grave importance has come before us,” Lars said. “Zens is creating new beasts. Rumor says they’ll be able to slay dragons.”
Roberto’s belly tightened. New creatures?
Murmurs rippled around the room.
“Just let those beasts try,” Erob snarled in Roberto’s mind. Behind him, the dragons’ talons scratched stone.
“A trusted witness heard tharuks gloating about these new beasts,” said Lars. “We plan to counter
