Hans and Ezaara kept Marlies replenished with clean herb, but Ezaara seemed distracted and pensive.
“Hans,” Marlies mind-melded. “What happened tonight? Ezaara seems off-color.”
“I expect she’s just tired. We fought off a couple of tharuk troops.”
“Maybe that’s it. Pass the piaua, please.” Marlies wasn’t convinced. Something was eating at her daughter, but she had bigger things to worry about with a dying dragon on her hands.
Death Valley
With every swab of Erob’s belly, every dose of clean herb, and each drop of piaua, Ezaara wondered whether Roberto had similar wounds. Was he lying somewhere in Death Valley, his blood staining Zens’ floor? Was Zens battering his mind and crushing his will?
Zens delighted in brutality. Each moment in the evil commander’s presence lessened Roberto’s chance of survival.
She couldn’t delay any longer. If the council didn’t want to act, then she would. “Zaarusha, you saw tharuks dragging Erob across jagged stones. They nearly killed him,” Ezaara mind-melded. “They’ll kill Roberto too. I can’t leave him with Zens.”
“My son is gravely wounded, Ezaara.”
“We’ll go when Erob has been healed. I still have Anakisha’s ring, so we’ll be quick. No one will miss us.”
“Mother.” Erob’s voice was weak in Ezaara and Zaarusha’s minds. “Save Roberto … please.”
“My heart is heavy, Ezaara,” Zaarusha said. “Roberto’s already offered his life twice for us: once when he was banished in your stead; and again when Ajeuria attacked me. We’ll go, and answer to the council once we fetch him home.” Zaarusha placed a wing over Erob’s back, protectively. “But before we do, we must participate in Erob’s healing circle.”
“Of course. I’d do anything to help Erob.” Ezaara burned to leave, but they couldn’t abandon Erob.
They all stood around Erob in a ring, dragons interspersed with their riders, hands on hides, with Marlies touching Erob. Ezaara watched Handel’s bronze sathir stream through Hans and into Zaarusha, whose multi-colored energy soared around Ezaara, then flowed into Liesar, mingling with her silver glow. Silver light flowed through Ma’s hands into Erob. His scales grew darker, healthier. His sathir deepened in color until it was midnight blue.
After what seemed like forever, Erob opened his golden eyes, fixing them on Ezaara.
Ezaara mind-melded with him. “Thank the Egg, you’re better. We’re going to get Roberto, in secret. What do you know that could help us find him?”
Hope gave Erob’s voice strength. “They took him over Devil’s Gate. That’s all I know. Find him, Ezaara and Mother. Find my rider.”
Ezaara inclined her head, and she climbed upon Zaarusha.
“Ezaara,” called Ma. “You look tired. Do get some rest.”
“Good idea. Thanks, Ma,” Ezaara replied. A great idea, but not one she’d be using tonight.
Zaarusha leapt off the ledge and they flew across the dark basin. Ezaara chewed some freshweed while they soared, waiting for the blue guard patrol to fly past. When no one was watching, she rubbed Anakisha’s ring, whispering, “Kisha,” and they disappeared.
Once more, they faced Anakisha.
“Anakisha, we have to find Master Roberto,” Ezaara said, sharing a memory of his face. “He’s in Death Valley. Please send us near Devil’s Gate.”
With a crack, Zaarusha and Ezaara appeared above a mountain with a crude watchtower on it.
“This is Devil’s Gate.” Zaarusha said. “Your mother sneaked past here, injured, only to be captured down the other side. I’ll drop you on the next peak over.” Zaarusha winged away.
Tharuks shouted below.
“Do you think they’ve seen us?” Ezaara asked.
“For your sake, I hope not.” Zaarusha landed down the far side of the next peak. “Just in case, wear the cloak Roberto gave you,” the queen said. “It’s magicked. When you pull it around you, you’ll be invisible and leave no scent.”
Ezaara pulled the cloak on, hugged Zaarusha’s neck, and sped up the slope.
Zaarusha took to the sky. “Find Roberto, Ezaara, but remember, if it gets too dangerous, get out.”
Near the crest of the hill, Ezaara dropped to her belly and crept forward, peering between rocks at two tharuks warming their hands over a fire. Slinking off, she picked her way through the snowy terrain down a rocky trail.
A guttural voice cut through the night. “Bill sees shadow in sky. Now we climb up here. Not fair. Our patrol finished.”
Tharuks were coming up the trail. Ezaara slunk behind a rock, pulling her cloak around her, heart pounding. Old Bill from Lush Valley had been a tharuk spy. Were they talking about the same Bill?
“Quiet,” snarled another tharuk, tromping uphill. “Bill will hear you. Want Zens’ reward?”
“Not reward. Not me. After reward, 378 dead.”
“Said quiet.” A grunt of pain followed.
An answering roar came from up the trail. Close, too close. She was trapped between two groups. Gods, she needed a better hiding place. Ezaara scurried, half sliding down the track. Perhaps there was somewhere around that next bend.
An overpowering stench wafted on the breeze—tharuks were around the next corner. What was that shadow on the cliff? She scrambled over to a deep fissure with dirty churned-up snow at the entrance—well-used, but her only chance.
A spine-chilling snarl echoed from around the bend. Neck hair standing on end, Ezaara plunged into the fissure, tugging her cloak around her.
Inside, candle stubs flickered in recesses in the rock, casting light and leaping shadows. A tunnel network led deep inside the mountain. She dashed on. What in the Egg’s name was she doing? She could be heading right for Zens.
A guffaw echoed off the rock behind her, answered by snorts and heavy boots.
Ezaara raced deeper into the tunnel, squeezed into a crevasse, and froze, tugging her cloak around her. Not a moment too soon.
“Troop, stop,” a tharuk bellowed. “Tracker, come here. Smell something?”
