How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

by G. A. Aiken

  “Stop, Brannie,” Izzy got out around the food she still hadn’t swallowed.

  “Look at him. All puffed up. I can’t believe that’s my brother.”

  They both looked over at Fal. The brown dragon was keeping human prostitutes enthralled with tales of wartime heroism that managed to leave out how many times Brannie and Celyn had been forced to save his rather useless ass.

  “What’s really tragic is he’s not even smart enough to help Daddy with all his peacemaking, politics, and book . . . stuff. He’s bloody stupid!”

  “Would you stop?” Izzy begged, her voice barely a whisper, her attempts to stop her laughter getting weaker by the second.

  “And look at ’em,” she coaxed Izzy, gesturing to the women. “Look at ’em all. ‘Ohhh, Fal,’” she mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “‘You’re so handsome and brave.’”

  Izzy pushed her nearly empty plate away. It was rare for her not to finish a meal but what could she do? Brannie would have her choke to death!

  “But,” Izzy whispered, “they are prostitutes, yes?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Then is romance really required?”

  “It is when you’re cheap.”

  “Ahhh. I see.”

  Brannie leaned in closer, her voice dropping even more. “Now you see why me mum sent him here. He’s hopeless.”

  “But he seems quite happy.”

  “Because there’s no safer or more boring an assignment then the salt mines.”

  “It’s a very important job, though, Bran. Guarding salt.” Izzy cringed, unable to imagine spending her life guarding a seasoning for meat. “Look, as long as he’s happy . . .”

  “As long as there’s fresh pussy and ale within flying distance, my brother will always be happy.” Brannie sneered in disgust, dismissed it all with a wave of her hand, and asked, “So, you getting nervous about meeting your grandmum?”

  “First off, that woman is not my grandmum. Rhiannon is my grandmum. That other bitch is just the body that carried my mum.”

  “You’re not one for forgiving, are you, Iz?”

  “I forgive. When you’re not an outright cunt to me mum.” She looked intently at her cousin. “Family’s all, Brannie. Family’s all.”

  Brannie started laughing hysterically. “I still can’t believe you used that one on him!”

  “All right,” Aidan admitted. “I like her. I like Izzy.”

  A fist slammed into his face, snapping his head to the side.

  Aidan cracked his neck, moved his jaw around to make sure he still could, then looked back at his friend. “I mean, I like her as a fellow being and I like her for you. I didn’t mean I like her so let me get her into a corner so I can fuck her blind.”

  “Oh.” Éibhear gave a small shrug. “Sorry then.”

  “No, no. I like getting punched in the face for no bloody reason.”

  “It’s a habit. What can I say?”

  “Thought you only did that with family.”

  “ ‘Thought you only did that with family,’” Éibhear imitated-sneered back at him.

  Aidan looked around the table, remembered why he’d never fit in with the regular army in the first place. Gods, what a miserable life to lead. “On the way back, let’s stay in a town when we need a break. Or even a bloody barn.”

  “Aye.” Éibhear sat up, his elbows on the table, his hands rubbing his tired face. “We should have stayed where we left the horses. We’d have had to stay human, but at least we’d have a bed and I wouldn’t have to deal with—”

  “Cousin? Oy. Cousin!”

  Éibhear let out a long breath. “What, Fal?”

  His cousin leaned in, his arm around one of the prostitutes, and whispered, “So did you get her yet?”

  The Mì-runach, who sat on the other side of Éibhear and could hear Fal, stopped eating. They might have stopped breathing.

  “Don’t know what you mean,” Éibhear tried, really hoping his cousin would let this go. Although Fal believed himself as charming as Gwenvael the Handsome, he didn’t realize he lacked the one thing Éibhear’s brother had in abundance: intelligence. For it was intelligence that was the thin line between endearing rapscallion and idiot bastard.

  “Izzy,” the idiot bastard pushed. “You finally get her or has my brother still got you beat there?”

  Éibhear clenched his jaw, the back of his neck began to itch, and his hands curled into fists, but he said nothing.

  “Have you even tried, cousin?” He leaned in closer and Éibhear realized Fal was well into his cups. “From what I’ve heard over the years, it’s really not that hard to get in there.”

  Still, Éibhear said nothing. Not yet.

  He focused across the table, his gaze on Izzy. She was chatting and laughing with Brannie, oblivious to what was going on.

  “Look,” the idiot pushed, “if you don’t want her for yourself, you should give her to your Mì-runach friends there. Or maybe when you’re done with her. That’s what you do for friends. Not that you have friends anymore. Not since you got poor Austell killed. But I’m sure you know what I mean. They’ll appreciate the gesture.”

  Aidan pushed his plate away, fell back in his chair. Caswyn had his face buried in his hands, and Uther was hunched over the table, his entire body tensing so hard that it seemed he was shaking. He wasn’t. He was tense. Tense was never good when dealing with the Mì-runach.

  Brannie glanced over at him. She kept up her conversation with Izzy, but she was a Cadwaladr, too. If there was one thing every Cadwaladr learned to do at an early age, it was to be painfully aware of when their kin was doing something incredibly stupid. Brannie studied Éibhear’s face before turning back to Izzy. She laughed at something her friend said and then watched Izzy get up from her chair, thank the commander of the outpost, and excuse herself from the table. She walked off and Brannie watched her until she’d left the cavern.

  Then Brannie’s smile faded and she relaxed back in her chair, her gaze moving back to Éibhear’s.

  With a nod, Éibhear grabbed the back of Fal’s head and rammed it against the table, again and again, and then a few more times for good measure. When he was done with that, Éibhear stood up, grabbed his cousin by the back of the neck, lifted him up and flipped him over.

  Fal slammed into the table, a loud hiss of air leaving his lungs. He shifted back to his dragon form and so did Éibhear.

  That’s when the officers got to their collective feet and quickly shifted to their dragon forms, ready to fight for their idiot comrade. But the Mì-runach were ready to fight for Éibhear and four Mì-runach against a large contingent of officers and their troops was . . . well . . . not really fair to the officers and their troops.

  Brannie got to her feet, removed her clothes so as not to rip them, and shifted to her dragon form. She held her front forearms away from her body.

  “Well?” she roared, abruptly facing the salt mines commander. “Come on then!”

  Izzy wandered away from the cavern. She didn’t know what was going on and she probably didn’t want to know. But she’d known Brannie for so long, they’d been through so much together, that Izzy knew something about the She-dragon’s brother was upsetting her. So Izzy had left and found her way to one of the exits. The Dragon Queen’s troops had been industrious over the years and they’d built a lovely little balcony directly into the mountainside.

  She’d admit, she didn’t just walk out there. She tested it a bit to make sure it was sturdy. The dragons could fly away if it wasn’t. All Izzy could do was go to her death with great dignity. Since she had no plans of doing that anytime soon, she tested the balcony until she felt certain it was safe enough.

  Resting her arm on the balcony’s edge and her chin on her fist, Izzy looked out over what should have been her homeland. She should have been born and raised in these sand-covered lands.

  Gods, how much different would her life had been? Would she still be Izzy? The Izzy she was now? Or would she be a true No
lwenn, practicing the most powerful of Magicks and deigning to meet with royals who needed her help? She really didn’t know. Did the place make the person? The people one surrounded oneself with? Or was a person born, not made? Perhaps it was a combination of things. She didn’t know, and she left those kinds of philosophical debates to those who read more than one book every two years.

  She still had to admit, it was hard. To love the family you had but still wish to have known your father. She’d asked her mother questions about him over the years, but to this day, thoughts of him still cut Talaith and Izzy didn’t like to be the one to upset her. It wasn’t like Talaith had had a happy life after leaving her home with the Nolwenns. It had been hard and painful, filled with worry for the daughter she’d never had a chance to get to know and desperation to get that daughter back. Izzy’s life had been a little lonely, a little sad but nothing like her mother’s. So she kept questions about her true father to a minimum, assuming she’d get her chance to meet him in the afterlife.

  “He would have liked you, from what I can tell.”

  Izzy closed her eyes. The last being she wanted to deal with at the moment was Rhydderch Hael.

  “And what would I have to give to bring him back? Just my soul?”

  “I’d never ask that of you. My mate has use for warriors’ souls, but I don’t. Besides, I couldn’t bring your father back if I wanted to. He’s not mine to return.”

  She looked over at the god. He stood next to her as human, his gaze fixed across the Desert Lands. She wondered what he saw that Izzy could not.

  “What do you want from me, dragon god?”

  “Your love?”

  “No, seriously. What do you want?”

  Rhydderch Hael laughed. “I’ve missed our talks, Izzy.”

  “So have I,” she admitted. “But I no longer trust you.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. You have your concerns and I have mine. Of course, mine involve entire universes and yours just a small part of one.”

  “Is this what you want from me?” she asked. “To come into the Desert Lands, meet with the Nolwenns, and what? Kill my grandmother? Has she crossed you somehow?”

  His smile was . . . warm. Like an indulgent father. He reached out and caressed her cheek. “My dear, sweet Izzy. I assure you I’d never waste your blood debt to me or your considerable talents on your human grandmother.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re young, Iseabail. You may lack the powers of the Nolwenns but not their longevity. I’ll have use of you . . . in time.”

  “And you’re keeping me alive to do what?”

  “Keeping you alive? Me?” He laughed again. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I’m still alive,” she insisted.

  “Your sheer will has ensured that. Well, your sheer will and that high bit of insanity. Honestly, though, Izzy. It’s been your skill that’s kept you alive. You’ve grown into a mighty warrior without my help.”

  Confused, Izzy asked, “If you didn’t want me for my blood debt, why did you bring me here?”

  He sighed, sounding a bit exasperated. “Something neither you nor your mother can grasp—I don’t bring anyone anywhere. Dragon gods don’t do that. We don’t order mortals to do our bidding because dragons will go out of their way not to do it. So, instead, we . . . manipulate. We bargain. We blackmail.” He stood behind her now, his arms braced on either side of her, trapping her between his human form and the balcony wall. She felt intense heat coming from him, like standing over a volcano. It didn’t burn her, though. It didn’t harm her. But it was powerful.

  “And, sometimes, little Izzy,” he said against her ear, “we entice. I knew Briec the Mighty would be enticed by your mother and I needed her someplace safe. His holding on to her, though, that was his decision, not mine. Personally, I couldn’t have cared less if he kept her or not. But over the eons, to get what I want, I’ve found that dragons are more easily enticed than threatened or bullied. Entice them and they’ll go anywhere I need them to.”

  “You bastard.” Izzy closed her eyes, rage pouring down her like rainwater. “This has nothing to do with me.”

  “In some ways you’re right. It has nothing to do with you. Then again, it has everything to do with you. But don’t hate me for being who I am, little Izzy. For I am a god.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Do me a favor, though, would you? Watch your flank.”

  “My . . .” Izzy spun around. Rhydderch Hael was gone, but in his place was something else. A dragon. Similar in form to the ones she’d known all her life but . . . different in two ways. The moon overhead told her his color was red, but the red had a bright bronze overlay that sparkled in the light in a way her own dragon kin’s scales did not. And his scales . . . they weren’t scales as she’d known them all her life. Because these scales had no separation between them. Instead they were like a hard shell perfectly formed over his entire body, with only room for the wings, limbs, and eyes. The dragon’s hair was long but had warrior braids throughout and the color had that same bronze overlay. He was, in Izzy’s estimation, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. His coloring made him look like a jewel glittering in the moonlight.

  But he was no Southland dragon, of that she was sure. She also had no idea where he’d come from, which was why she slowly brought her hand down and wrapped it around the metal stick she kept on her sword belt. A metal stick given to her years ago by master blacksmith Sulien.

  “Praying to your gods, human?” the dragon asked.

  “I pray to no god. Not anymore.”

  “But choosing the right god will set you free.” He lowered his long neck until they were eye to eye, lifted one talon, and brought it to his snout. “Ssssssh, human,” he said on a whisper. “Let’s make this quick so no one has to get hurt.”

  Izzy nodded and replied, “We can at least make it quick.” Then she brought Sulien’s weapon around and thought about what she needed at the moment. That’s all it took. A thought and the weapon extended in length and the flat tip turned to a spike. She took firm hold of the steel in both hands and rammed it forward, forcing it into the dragon’s eye and straight into his brain.

  Izzy yanked out the weapon, the dragon roaring in pain, his claws covering the hole where his eye used to be. He’d be dead soon, so Izzy turned away from him and leaned over the balcony edge. That’s when she saw more dragons climbing up the side of the mountain. They did this, she guessed, because the flaps of their wings would signal their approach to any dragon within a league.

  So if silence was what they wanted . . . it would not be what Izzy would give them.

  Stepping back and lifting her weapon, the wonderful thing growing longer and wider with another thought, she opened her mouth and yelled out, “Éibhear!”

  Éibhear had Fal pinned to the floor with his back claw and was about to start stabbing at his cousin with the tip of his tail when he heard Izzy call out his name. If she’d called anyone else, he’d have continued fighting. But Izzy would never call his name unless . . .

  He unfurled his wings and lifted himself up above the fray going on in the cavern. “Mì-runach!” he bellowed out. “With me!”

  Izzy wasn’t about to try to kill a swarm of dragons she knew very little about and had never faced in battle, and who outsized her. So, instead, she ran. Sometimes even the greatest warriors in the world needed to run—and she wasn’t the greatest warrior in the world.

  Izzy ran, hoping she was heading toward Éibhear and the others, but she wasn’t sure. Even worse, she knew now that these attackers were after her. She knew it when she heard one call out, “She went down here! Go! Go!”

  Wings scraped against tunnel walls, claws slapped against rock as the foreigners searched for her.

  She had no idea what they wanted, but she wasn’t about to worry about it now. She just wanted to get someplace safe and—

  A claw reached out from a dark cavern, Izzy seeing it too late to avoid it. It wrapped a
round her and yanked her into the darkness. She brought her weapon up, to strike at least once, but before any of that happened, the foreigner blew out a small breath. She felt something like sand hit her in the face and Izzy breathed it in before she could stop herself. Instantly her body went limp, her ability to fight or scream or anything else, for that matter, gone.

  “Sleep, little human. Sleep,” the dragon soothed.

  Since she was fairly certain she had no choice, that’s what Izzy did.

  Éibhear blocked an axe to the face, slammed the weapon to the ground, and rammed his body into his attacker, shoving him into the wall. Éibhear thrust his sword into the attacker’s mouth and twisted. Once the body stopped moving, Éibhear pulled his sword out and turned toward all the fighting.

  “Sand dragons. Breaking the alliance with my mother?” He shook his head. “No. That doesn’t seem right.”

  Aidan, with a sword in each claw, impaled two enemy dragons running toward them. He ripped out his weapons, the dragons’ insides spilling onto the floor, and faced Éibhear. “Then what the fuck are they doing?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked around. “And where the fuck is Izzy?”

  Aidan shrugged, cut another Sand Eater in half. “Caswyn! Uther! You see Izzy?”

  “No,” Caswyn called back from across the tunnel. “And we’ve been looking.”

  “Éibhear!” Brannie came around the corner. “I found this.” She held up a metal stick.

  “What’s that?”

  “A weapon Uncle Sulien gave Izzy. She’d never leave it behind.”

  “Then where is she?” Aidan asked.

  “I don’t know. But there was no blood, no bones. If she was eaten, she’d never go down easy.”

  “Oy!” Caswyn called out. “Hear that?”

  Éibhear tried to listen around all the sounds of battle. At first, he didn’t know what Caswyn was talking about, but then he heard it. Barking.