Maazini and Riona flew up the mountain face to the top of Dragon’s Teeth, then plunged down the southern drop under Heaven’s Peak. Tomaaz’s stomach dropped. Wind flicked Taliesin’s hair into Tomaaz’s face. The early rays of dawn tinged the snow gold as Maazini and Riona followed the ring of Dragon’s Teeth west. Soon, they were above the northern tip of Great Spanglewood Forest, which spread like a haphazardly-thrown rug all the way to the foot of the Terramites. Tomaaz pulled Taliesin firmly against him, relieved when the boy’s tense body relaxed.
Riona and Maazini landed in a snowy clearing among towering strongwood trees. They walked toward three cabins nestled at the edge of the trees. Taliesin’s eyes were enormous as he gazed around at the forest—very different to the barren hills of Death Valley.
“Welcome to Mage Gate,” Kierion said.
“Hope you’ve got some food here,” said Tomaaz. “It’s been ages since that paltry breakfast.”
“There’s nothing quite like wizard porridge,” Kierion chuckled.
“The trees are so green, even in winter,” Taliesin piped up, voice still croaky from years of disuse.
“It’s the spangles. They keep the trees evergreen, even when they’re not,” said Kierion.
“Spangles?” Taliesin frowned. “When I was a littling, Ma told me a bedtime story about spangles.”
This was new. Taliesin seldom spoke of his childhood.
“She said that Anakisha’s littlings sat at her feet while the spangles perched on her knees, telling her littling stories. Ma said she always slept better after a spangle’s tale.”
Taliesin’s mother was Anakisha’s child? That meant Taliesin was her grandson. No wonder he had the gift of prophecy. Kierion shot Tomaaz a glance. He’d noticed too. “So, spangles are like magical story tellers?” asked Tomaaz.
Kierion laughed. “Magical, yes. Story tellers, no. But I’ve never seen one.”
A door opened and a tall gangly man, with the bushiest eyebrows Tomaaz had ever seen, strode across the snow to greet them, his mage cloak creating eddies of snow. A Naobian wizard, about Tomaaz’s age, kept pace with him, while Kierion’s friend, Fenni, jogged after him.
“I’m Master Giddi,” said the mage. “Are you Marlies’ boy?”
The wizard’s grip was firm with more than a trickle of magic zapping across Tomaaz’s hand. “Yes, I am.”
“Why’s the lad so round-eyed?” Fenni asked Kierion and Tomaaz.
Tomaaz shrugged. “He’s been in Death Valley for so long, he hasn’t seen a forest in ages.”
A deep belly laugh broke out from Master Giddi. “He’s a seer, that one.” He gestured at Taliesin.
“Yes, we’ve discovered his gift,” answered Tomaaz. How did the master mage know?
Giddi knelt before Taliesin and looked him in the eye, wriggling his eyebrows like large hairy caterpillars. “They’re spangles, lad. Aren’t they fascinating?”
“Where?” Fenni glanced around. Tomaaz and Kierion craned their necks, searching too.
Jael laughed now. “You mean, none of you have ever seen them?”
“What’s going on?” asked Tomaaz.
Master Giddi smiled. “All around you. Those shimmering beings in the trees.”
Fenni’s face lit up. “Kierion, I saw them that time you got knocked out by tharuks.”
Tomaaz had no idea what they were looking at—he couldn’t see a thing.
“What?” thundered Giddi, glaring at Fenni. “You told me Kierion was hurt, but not that he was knocked out!”
§
It was pitch black when Tomaaz and Taliesin returned home. They’d ended up staying overnight at Mage Gate and fighting tharuks the next day, after sending a message home to Ma and Pa via a passing blue guard. Now they were dog-tired, although Taliesin was the bubbliest Tomaaz had ever seen—almost like he’d never been enslaved. Kierion had been right, the trip had done him good, despite them battling tharuks. Tomaaz dropped Taliesin on the infirmary ledge and Ma took him inside.
“Let’s go and find Ezaara. The council doesn’t approve of us fighting with mages, but maybe as Queen’s Rider she can influence them.” They flew across the basin. Tomaaz patted Maazini’s neck as they touched down on the ledge outside Zaarusha’s empty den. “Great job today, Maazini. You’ve recovered well. Twenty tharuks was a good hunt.” His dragon furled his wings and he slid from the saddle, thunking to the ground. “And my hip’s good again too.”
“Twenty-two tharuks actually, while you only killed ten.”
“Hey, great swathes of fire are much more efficient than arrows, so you have an unfair advantage.”
“And the mages?”
“They have an unfair advantage too,” said Tomaaz, digging strips of dried beef out of Maazini’s saddlebags and feeding them to him. Tomaaz ate one, too. “Wizard fire is pretty potent, so, all in all, I think every kill of mine should equate to three or four of yours and theirs.”
“Four to one?” Maazini blinked a large golden eye. “Two to one is the best you’ll get.”
“All right, so my ten to your twenty-two, still means I’m only one down.”
“I’m not a numbers dragon,” Maazini snorted. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Tomaaz laughed. “I’ll see if Ezaara agrees with us about fighting with mages. If she’s keen, we’ll go straight to Lars.”
“I’ve tried to meld with Zaarusha, but I can’t sense her.”
“That’s odd, it’s so late.” Not that it being dark would ever stop Ezaara going out. He’d seen her out with Zaarusha when she couldn’t sleep, while he’d been roaming the mountainside feeling bad about leaving Roberto in Death Valley. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Ezaara’s cavern was empty. A few of her clothes were tossed across the bed. Her healer’s pouch was gone. So were her boots, weapons and cloak.
Maazini melded with him. “I’ve checked with the blue guards and other dragons. No one’s seen Ezaara or Zaarusha since the feast. They’d assumed they were resting”
“That was two days ago. Where could she be?” As Tomaaz ran to the ledge, he knew the answer—sick of the council’s inaction, Ezaara had taken matters into her own hands and gone to Death Valley. By the dragon
