by G. A. Aiken
“What?”
“Leave. Walk out. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“You don’t really think this will work, do you? Trying to convince me that—”
“You’re a prisoner? A prisoner in a very comfortable cell? Or a calf they’ve been fattening up for the kill.”
Determined now, Vateria headed toward the chamber exit. But a dragon stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
Vateria tried again, moving around the dragon. But another dragon cut her off.
“Move out of my way,” she ordered.
Izzy smirked. “But you’ve been so comfortable here.”
“Shut up!”
Vateria stormed back into the center of the chamber.
“You can’t keep me here,” she argued. “I’m Chramnesind’s chosen one.”
“Really?” Izzy pursed her lips. “Huh.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means why would Chramnesind make you his chosen one? It’s not like you’re truly loyal to him. Look at these others. Vateria, this lot gave up their eyes for him. The others kneel in supplication. And they’ve all given up their families and friends in honor of his blessings. And you . . . you want an army. To win back land you never had a right to. Oh, yes. You are so the chosen one.”
“This isn’t working.”
“Fine. It’s not working.”
“They’re just keeping me here for my own safety.”
“Fine. It’s for your safety.”
“Well, what other reason could they be keeping me for?”
Izzy shrugged. “Well, I’m sure we can safely rule out virgin sacrifice.”
“Bitch.”
“But they could be planning to rip you open, clean you out, and fill you up with someone or something else. It’s kind of what happened to my mother.”
“Fill me up with what, exactly?”
“Whatever’s behind that wall.”
Vateria looked over her shoulder. “There’s nothing behind that wall except . . . sewage.”
“Fine. There’s nothing behind that wall.”
“Stop doing that!”
“I’m just agreeing with you.”
“Well stop it!”
Vateria sat back on her haunches, front claws twisting together.
After nearly a minute, she pointed at the wall. “Show me,” she ordered the others.
“Lady Vateria—”
“Do it! Show me what’s behind that wall!”
One of the dragons looked at the zealots, nodded. A wand was raised and, slowly, the rock wall separated and slowly opened.
Stifling a scream, Vateria stumbled back.
Izzy leaned over to the dragon standing next to her and asked, “Are those tentacles?”
The Sand dragon looked at her . . . and smiled.
Chapter 41
“Are you sure about this?” Aidan asked him, the four of them staring up the stairs at the badly repaired doors Éibhear had just ripped open the previous day.
“I think so.”
“And I hope so. I’m not in the mood to suffer. Even for you.”
“What about when we get in there?” Caswyn asked. “Then what?”
“I don’t know,” Éibhear admitted. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”
Damn gods, he thought. Damn gods with their damn centaur shit. He hated them all, but he especially hated bloody Rhydderch Hael.
“I know. He can be a bit of a prat.”
Éibhear sighed and looked to his left. She stood there, tall and strong, brown of skin, arms covered in runes. But she was no mortal being. He could tell because of what should be the mortal wound on her neck. Her throat had been slashed from one side to the other and yet she was still . . . strong. Powerful. Breathing.
“It’s not his fault really. He has so many things on his mind. My focus is very clear. Always has been. But he’s involved in so many things. And after eons of dealing with those who don’t truly appreciate him, he just got a little . . .”
“Bitchy?”
“I was going to say cranky. And you’re no better.”
“Look, I don’t have time for—”
“Where the hells did you come from?” Aidan asked.
And that’s when Éibhear realized that his friends could see her, too. It was a relief to know he wasn’t actually going insane.
“I come from blood and death and good quality steel. Battle makes up my organs and war makes up my soul.”
“Uh . . .” Uther leaned in. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve got a bit of . . . uh . . . well . . . a scratch on your throat?”
She laughed. “Aye. A scratch. Don’t worry. This scratch will heal.”
Needing to know, Éibhear asked, “Why can they—”
“As warriors, when you leave this life, you’ll come to me. All the Mì-runach come to me. So I allow you to see me when I choose.”
“You’re Eirianwen,” Aidan gasped. “The goddess of war and death.”
“I thought you’d be a She-dragon,” Caswyn said. “But I don’t think you are.”
“That’s because I’m not.”
“What do you want?” Éibhear asked, unable to keep the tiredness out of his voice.
“My mate, he sometimes forgets that balance is necessary in this world. Without it, I don’t exist. But Chramnesind doesn’t want balance. It’s of no use to him, you see, because he wants it to all belong to him.”
“He’ll bring you war and death.”
“Only for a short time. A few decades perhaps. Maybe a century or two. But to me . . . centuries are like seconds in a short day. So I need you, Éibhear the Blue, to stop what’s to happen. What’s already begun.”
“You mean rescue Vateria.”
“Exactly. Because if she dies here, in this spot of great power, at the hands of Chramnesind’s acolytes . . . there will be dark times indeed. Her soul is a deep well of hatred. Combine that hatred with what they actually plan to do to her . . . what they’ll have her become—and none of you will survive. Not human. Not dragon. Not your Izzy. Vateria, here and now, cannot die. For if she dies here, she will be reborn—and then gods help you all.”
“So how do I stop this?”
“Do what you do best. The Mì-runach are my greatest creation, the idea given to your forefathers millennia ago.”
“We’ll still have to get past the witches.”
“Let Aidan do the talking.” She threw a ridiculously large hammer at Éibhear’s feet, the sound of it clanging against the marble stone steps, ricocheting through the quiet of the sleeping city. “You do the hammering.” She walked around them. “And good luck to you all.”
Éibhear picked up the hammer. It was heavy even for him, but he rested it on his shoulder anyway.
“You know, Éibhear,” Aidan said as they walked up the steps to the Nolwenn temple, “I’m starting to see why you don’t go home very often.”
“I tried to tell you. . . .”
Vateria turned to run, but a tentacle shot out and wrapped around her back leg, yanking her to her stomach. She screeched and dug her talons into the stone floor. Smoke came from where the tentacle held her leg, a sizzling sound and the smell of burning scales causing Izzy to shudder.
The cultists moved forward, all of them chanting, calling out to their god. While they did, Izzy stepped back. And, while their attention was focused away from her, she did something she’d only done willingly once before when she’d been very drunk and Brannie had dared her in front of all her men.
Gritting her teeth, Izzy dislocated both her shoulders. Something much easier to do once she’d had them broken in a battle. Yet easier didn’t mean any less agonizing. She bit back a cry of pain, and maneuvered her arms down and her legs over her bound wrists. Then she brought her arms up.
She panted, working hard to control her pain. Then, making sure she still had no one’s attention, Izzy moved back to the wall behind her and faced it. Taking another deep breath, she rammed first one shou
lder, then the other against the hard rock, snapping both joints into place.
“I have really got to stop doing that,” she muttered.
She turned away from the wall and faced one of the Sand dragons. Without a word, he raised his sword and brought it down. Izzy rolled forward, out of the way of the blade, but as she came out of the roll, she brought her bound arms up. The weapon slashed through her bonds but, thankfully, only scraped the inside of one palm.
Shaking off the rope, she got to her feet just as the dragon’s tail came at her face. She caught hold of it and the dragon picked her up. Something she’d realized long ago that all dragons did when something was hanging from their tail. She took the short trip until she could land on the dragon’s back. He tried to shake her off, but she caught hold of his hair and held on. He spun in a circle, his tail coming at her again. She dodged first one way, then the other, never losing her grip on his hair.
Frustrated, he began using his sword as well, trying to swipe her off. When the sword came at her a third time, she waited until it was near her legs before she jumped to the side and rammed her foot down on the blade, pinning it to the dragon’s back.
He roared in anger and released the weapon, using his tail again to try to stop her. Most likely assuming she couldn’t lift the sword. But Izzy had been playing with dragon swords since the night she’d stolen Éibhear’s from his room when she was a teenager. She grabbed the leather-bound grip, raised the extremely heavy weapon, and swung it once. The blade, sharp, cut through the end of the dragon’s tail. Izzy dropped the sword, no longer needing it, and caught the tail tip before it hit the ground. Taking firm hold of it, she charged the rest of the way up the dragon’s back, ignoring his screams of pain and the blood flying everywhere from his whipping tail, until she was at his neck.
Izzy dropped down, her legs going around his shoulders. She leaned over to grab one of the scales, but then remembered that the Sand dragons’ scales were different from all the others.
Cursing her stupidity, she scrambled back up, kicked the bleeding tail that was now trying to grab her, and charged up the rest of the dragon’s neck and right to the top of his head. She dropped to her knees, raised the tail tip over her head and brought it down into the dragon’s eye.
He screamed in pain and sand exploded out of his snout and mouth. He went back on his haunches, forearms flailing out.
Izzy, losing her grip on the tail tip, flipped back, rolling down the dragon’s spine until her head hit the ground and everything went black.
Fed up with arguing with her daughter, Elisa stormed away. But Haldane followed her, still arguing, as was her way. And yes, it did cross Elisa’s mind to turn her daughter into something that slithers but she fought the urge. It would be a very bad precedent to set.
She did, however, stop, spin around, and yell at her daughter to, “Shut the fuck up, Haldane!”
“I will do no such thing!”
“Elder Elisa!”
Sighing, “What is it, Akila?”
“The dragons are back.”
“Tell them to come back tomorrow. I don’t have time—”
“They’re ripping up the floor of the Great Hall!”
Elisa locked eyes with Akila. “They’re what?”
Éibhear raised the hammer again and again, ramming it into the thick marble floor. With each piece he loosened, one of his comrades tore out the marble and tossed it aside.
“What the holy hells do you think you’re doing?” Elisa yelled up at them. The Mi-runach had all shifted to their natural form so that they could do this as quickly as possible.
“He’s doing what you asked him to do,” Aidan explained calmly.
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s rescuing Vateria.”
“From under our floors? Is he insane? Are you?”
“I wish he was,” Aidan sighed. “But I assure you, we’re not here to harm you. Trust me, my lady. You want us to do this.”
Éibhear brought the hammer down again, hit the marble, and lifted it away.
“Éibhear!” Caswyn said, digging harder. “I think we’re through.”
“Through?” Elisa demanded. “Through to where?”
“To the Cult of Chramnesind’s hiding place,” Aidan told her.
“I told you before, you big oaf. They’re in the desert.”
“No. They’re not.”
“And you know this how?”
Éibhear looked down at Elisa and answered, “From the goddess Eirianwen.” When the witches only stared at him, he added, “Beat that.”
“You mean they’ve been under us all this time?”
“Leeching your power to increase their strength,” Aidan explained.
Éibhear focused on Haldane. “But know this, witch, if Iseabail dies because you were a bitch to her, I’ll be coming back for you.” He nodded at Elisa. “Call your witches from their beds. Anything that comes out of here that’s not us . . . kill it.”
Éibhear focused on the pit his comrades had dug. “Move,” he ordered. They did.
Unfurling his wings, Éibhear took to the air, going up to the tall ceiling. He flipped over and raced toward the floor. As he neared it, he unleashed his flame, and burst through to the chamber beneath.
Izzy woke up when she felt someone shaking her shoulder.
“Izzy. Wake up.”
Looking up, Izzy smiled. “Rhi.”
“You need to get up. Now.”
“Just let me sleep a little longer.”
“Please, Iz!”
“Ssshhh.”
Izzy rolled to her side and tried to get back to sleep, but someone strong grabbed her shoulder and rolled her to her back.
“Oy! Cousin!”
“Talwyn?”
“Time to wake up, bitch.” Then her cousin slapped her. Hard.
Izzy sat up, the sword that had been aiming for her head, ramming into the ground instead.
Raising a brow, Izzy snarled at the human acolyte over her, “Missed me.” Then she swung her fist, knocking the bastard out. Getting to her feet, she yanked the sword from the ground. The thing with the tentacles, which Izzy was beginning to believe was once something human, had drawn an hysterically screaming Vateria close to its gaping maw, blood, drool, and shit pouring onto the floor around her.
Disgusted but not having much choice, Izzy charged forward, ducking under dragon tails and Minotaur fists and centaur hooves in an attempt to reach the bitch she absolutely hated.
She was nearly there when she saw dirt and rock pour down from the ceiling. It distracted her for a moment, a moment she desperately couldn’t afford.
A dragon tail swung out and rammed into her, sending her flying to the side. She waited to hit a wall but instead flew into one of the zealot dragons.
It sniffed and smiled. “Aaaaah. Iseabail,” it whispered as she dropped to the ground in front of it. “Daughter of Talaith, favored among Rhydderch Hael’s worshippers.”
Crawling backward, Izzy tried to get to her feet. But she was weakening fast. Losing her strength from the battering her body was taking. She feared she wouldn’t last much longer if she didn’t find a way to . . .
Thinking fast, Izzy recalled something she’d heard her mother chant once. She got to her feet and raised her hand.
“I call upon the powers of . . . um . . . Rhydderch Hael,” she screamed up at the zealot, shrugging at invoking that idiot’s name.
“You?” the zealot snarled. “You dare try to put a spell on me? You have no power here. Among us. With our god!”
“Oh . . . uh . . . Rhydderch Hael. Bring destruction down upon these . . . uh . . . bad people.”
“Kill her, Vincent,” another zealot ordered. “Show her what real power is.”
The dragon raised his fist, chanted something, and Izzy watched a ball of power shoot from the center of his claw and ram right into her.
Éibhear punched through the last bit of stone and metal and into the chamber beneath. A
s he crashed through, he saw what could only be Izzy flipping across the stone floor.
Changing course, he raced toward her, but he heard Vateria scream and remembered what he needed to do.
He wanted to go to Izzy. He wanted to rescue her. Take her out of here. But something, he didn’t know what, something told him that would be the exact wrong thing to do. He knew it with every fiber of his being. So he changed course again, spinning around in midair to face Vateria and . . . and whatever had hold of her.
Good gods . . . are those tentacles?
Éibhear shook off his disgust, lifted his hammer, and raced toward the enemy Iron that needed his help.
Brannie, having heard the fighting, screaming, and roaring nearly a mile away, charged into the chamber once she reached it, her sword and shield at the ready. As she did, she saw two things at the same time. First, she saw Izzy fly by her, heading into the far wall. Then she saw Éibhear crash through the ceiling and rush toward Izzy.
But then her cousin stopped. He stopped and instead of going for Izzy, the woman she was sure he loved, he turned and faced Vateria and . . . and whatever that was that had hold of the bitch.
Brannie had no idea what was going on, but she’d be damned if she’d let Izzy die because her cousin didn’t have his gods-damn priorities straight.
“In here!” she called out to the humans following her. “Hurry!” They could help with all this. She’d help with . . . with . . .
“Izzy?”
Izzy was no longer flying but walking with purpose back across the floor toward what Brannie was guessing were the zealots Iz had told her about. And even though those zealots didn’t have eyes, one of them still cocked his head like he could see. Like he was looking right at Izzy.
“You?” the zealot said in a raspy whisper. “You still live. How is that possible?”
“Kill her, Vincent! Kill her now!”
The zealot lifted both claws and unleashed a flash of powerful Magick that even Brannie with her non-Magickal existence could easily see.
And that Magick rammed right into Izzy, but this time, she didn’t fly anywhere. She just stopped, shook her head, cracked her neck, and moved forward.
