by G. A. Aiken
Vigholf sat up, looked around. There were no Kyvich. None of Rhona’s kin. No nanny. No one was watching a girl who was never alone. How had she gotten out here on her own . . . ?
“Hello, darling girl,” he said softly, resting his arm on his raised knee. “You all right?”
“They’re here,” the girl whispered.
“Who’s here?” Rhona asked, keeping her voice equally soft, unchallenging.
“She sent them. From the west. They’re here.”
“We better get her inside,” Vigholf said, getting to his feet, but the girl stepped back.
“It’s too late for us. We’re in it. But not for her. Not for them. They still have a chance. But someone has to help them before it’s too late.”
“Do you have any idea what or who she’s talking about?”
“Not at all,” Rhona admitted. “But that doesn’t matter right now.” Rhona walked toward her. “We need to get her inside before—” The sudden call from the Kyvich cut off the rest of Rhona’s words.
“Damn.” Knowing how the Kyvich could easily overreact to Rhian being outside the castle walls without the usual protection, Vigholf quickly picked the girl up.
There was another call from the Kyvich and, scowling, he locked gazes with Rhona. They both knew a warning call when they heard it and he was sensing it had little to do with them and the girl.
“Let’s move,” he ordered while running, knowing Rhona would follow.
But Rhona called out, “Vigholf!”
He stopped. Looked at the girl in his arms. “They’re here,” she said again, her expression much older than her six winters in this world would suggest.
Realizing what she meant, Vigholf dove behind a cart, Rhona landing right by his side mere seconds before everything went dark from the onslaught of arrows.
“We need to get her inside,” Rhona said once the arrows stopped.
“I know. But we have a bigger issue than getting her inside.”
“What?” Rhona demanded.
“Catching them before they clear the fence.”
With small swords in hand, the twins charged past them, shooting around the gate.
“Piss and fire!” Rhona snarled, scrambling to her feet and running after them. “Get Rhian inside!” she yelled to Vigholf.
Despite their size the twins were fast. Yet she thankfully had longer legs. She neared them, her arms almost around them when horses charged their way, the riders aiming their bows at them, arrows nocked.
Rhona shifted, gripping her weapon in her claw and immediately lifting herself up so she didn’t crush the children in the process. But before she could release her flame or use her spear to stop the riders, Talan dropped to his knees but continued sliding forward. Using his sword, he cut the tendon of the first horse he passed. The horse screamed, his damaged leg buckling, his rider flipping off. The rider’s neck snapped on impact and Talwyn ran up and onto his bent body. She used the momentum of her run and the extra height from the corpse to launch herself at another rider. The blade of her sword slammed high into the rider’s leg, the rider screaming as she used both hands to yank the blade down his calf.
Not knowing what else to do, Rhona caught hold of both children and took to the skies. The girl yelled and punched at her claw, trying to get loose while her brother did nothing but patiently wait until Rhona landed in the courtyard. Of course that’s when he slammed his sword into a spot between her talons.
“Aaargh! You vicious little—”
“Talwyn! Talan!” Talaith tore down the courtyard steps, her beautiful face streaked with tears. “Where is she?” the witch demanded. “Where’s Rhian?”
“Here.” Vigholf landed beside Rhona, carefully handing over the child to her mother. “She saved our lives, my lady. Thank you.”
Talaith nodded, holding Rhian tight to her. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she told her daughter. “Never sneak out again.” Fierce brown eyes locked on the twins. “And you two . . . get your asses in that castle. Now!”
The twins charged up the stairs and came face-to-face with their livid nanny. She picked them up and went back inside.
“Go, Talaith,” Rhona ordered the witch. “We’ll take it from here.”
With a brief glance at Vigholf, they both flew up and landed on the castle gates.
“It seems your cousin was right,” the Lightning admitted, gazing down at the number of Tribesmen riders charging and surrounding the castle gates.
Rhona, her new spear clenched in her claw, nodded. “She was.”
The Kyvich rode out of the gates on their horned steeds, their bloodthirsty dogs by their sides. The first sound of clashing weapons rang out.
Smiling a little, Rhona asked Vigholf, “Still mind having a female fighting by your side, Northlander?”
“Not when it’s you, Southlander.” He grinned at her. “Not when it’s you.”
Dagmar sent the commanding castle guards out to their troops with the warning, “Whatever you do, don’t get in the way of the Kyvich.”
She headed back into the castle, her faithful dog Canute by her side and the stray puppy she’d recently found right behind Canute. Running soldiers moved out of her way as she quickly came down the hallway, stopping when she reached the Great Hall. Several of the Kyvich surrounded Talaith and Ebba, escorting them to a safe place that had been built beneath the castle walls. Dagmar didn’t try to stop them, but was glad to see they were all right.
Thinking of nothing more than getting as many as possible through this alive, Dagmar coldly examined everything. And that’s when she saw the Dragon Queen walk down the stairs and out the Great Hall doors. Dagmar hadn’t even realized the queen had stayed last night. The discussion over what should be done about Annwyl’s disappearance had lasted late into the evening, but usually the queen would return to her Devenallt Mountain home at any hour. Yet she didn’t last night. She’d stayed.
Normally Dagmar wouldn’t worry about it, but she couldn’t ignore it this time. So Dagmar followed Rhiannon.
Rhona swooped down on the advancing troops, unleashing a line of flame while she dodged arrows, axes, and more spears. As always when she flew into battle, Rhona was more pissed off at being attacked than she was afraid. It gave her an edge she normally didn’t have in her day-today life.
She picked up horses and their riders and threw them into their own troops. Lashed her tail from side to side, sending the Tribesmen behind her flying and flipping through the air and across the ground. While her tail handled what was behind her, she used her spear to decimate what was in front. Tribesmen rode at her from all sides, using only their knees to stay seated while their hands were busy inundating her with arrows. Many struck home, imbedding past scales, but she ignored the pain as she always had, as she’d always been taught, and kept up her onslaught.
But she wasn’t alone. She had her kin striking from the air, sending down wave after wave of flame, burning human flesh from bone. The Lightning nearby battered and crushed and hacked with that hammer and ax of his. And the infamous Kyvich unleashed something. She thought they were those unholy horned dogs of theirs. They weren’t. They were men. Or what were once men, but were now no more than slavering beasts, broken by the heartless females they’d once challenged.
Younger witches clad—barely—in animal skins and bits and pieces of armor ran out to meet their enemy, combining weaponry and Magick to create a nightmarish whirl of blood and death. Tribesmen torn apart by nothing more than air, skin peeled from flesh by trees come alive. Some Tribesmen dragged underground, screaming all the way, by hands appearing from the earth beneath their feet.
Not willing to watch any more of that, Rhona focused on the enemies closer to the forests.
Rhiannon made her way to the top of the battlements, watching as her warriors and the human witches fought the Tribesmen. For human barbarians, the Tribesmen were dangerous foes, used to fighting not just Annwyl’s armies but Rhiannon’s dragon army as well.
“You shouldn’t be up here.”
Rhiannon glanced at Dagmar. “Neither should you, Battle Lord. You should be with the others.”
“These battlements are mine until Annwyl returns. I’ll not hide like I’m one of the children.”
“Such a Northlander,” Rhiannon murmured.
“Maybe we should have listened to Keita and sent the children to the Eastlands with Ren,” Dagmar told her, watching Ren join the fight in his wingless golden dragon form. She’d never noticed he had paws before—and antlers.
“If we ship them away every time there’s a problem, they’ll be raised by strangers all their lives.” The queen watched the Kyvich cut down man after man, while their dogs and horses ate the remains. “They stay here.”
“What about Annwyl? Who will we send out to find her?”
“That’s a bigger issue. Especially now. The Tribesmen won’t back off simply because the Kyvich’s pets have eaten a few of their friends.”
“So what do you suggest?”
Rhiannon leaned against the railing, watching the battle raging beneath.
“Normally I’d send out one of my Dragonwarriors to find her.”
“Can we afford to lose one of them now?”
“Can we afford to lose Annwyl?”
“We both know that if Annwyl left her army it was for a damn good reason.”
Rhiannon nodded. “I know that. She headed deeper into the west, Battle Lord. And there’s only one thing in that direction.”
“The Provinces.” The heart and home of the Irons. And getting into the Provinces was one thing. Getting out . . .
“This could very likely be a one-way trip for whoever we send.” Rhiannon shook her head. “But it can’t be avoided. We need to send someone to find Annwyl and bring her, Izzy, and Branwen back to their troops. So any suggestions, Battle Lord?”
Dagmar stepped closer to the rail. “One of your Dragonwarriors, yes?”
“They are my strongest and mightiest.”
“But they can also be unpredictable.”
Rhiannon smiled. The Northland woman her son had chosen as his mate was a quick learner.
“Exactly. They do what they think is right. If that means leaving Annwyl to die while they rescue lost urchins . . .”
“So then what?”
Rhiannon studied the battlefield. Of all who fought, there was one who stuck out to her eyes. “Which one is that?”
Dagmar adjusted her spectacles and squinted. “The Brown? Your niece. Rhona.”
That name sounded familiar. “Rhona? Rhona?” Oh, yes! “Bradana’s eldest. She babysat for me once when Keita was still a hatchling.”
“How did that go?”
“She recovered from the poisoning quite well and her hair grew back, but her mother wouldn’t let her babysit for us again, after that.” Rhiannon pointed at her niece. “What is she now? A captain? Or a general?”
“Sergeant.”
“Just a soldier then?”
“Just a soldier.”
They watched the soldier spear a Tribesmen and his horse with one thrust, and crush another with her shield.
Rhiannon and Dagmar looked at each other—and smiled.
Chapter 12
Finally, the Tribesmen pulled back, disappearing into the forests that surrounded Dark Plains. But Rhona had fought them long enough to know they weren’t gone, merely regrouping, using the trees and their forest-loving gods to shield them.
Rhona landed by one of her wounded cousins and pulled her forearm over her shoulder. Rhona walked-carried her kin toward the castle gates. Halfway there her load abruptly lightened, and she realized Vigholf had taken her kin’s other arm, allowing the She-dragon to get off her wounded leg.
Once inside the gates, Rhona handed over her burden to the healers and searched out her father. She found him rounding up weapons. He would work through the night with his apprentices to repair the damaged ones and sharpen the rest so that when the Tribesmen attacked again, they’d be ready and armed.
“Rhona,” he said when he saw her, wrapping her in a hug. “Good work, child.”
“Sergeant Rhona!” Addolgar called out. “You’ve been summoned by the queen. Dress and meet her in the war room.”
Sulien caught Rhona’s forearm and held her. “What does the queen want with my daughter?” he demanded of Addolgar.
But Rhona pushed his claw off. “Daddy, when the queen calls, I go.”
Addolgar motioned toward the castle with a jerk of his head, patting Rhona’s shoulder as she walked by.
“Don’t do anything foolish, child,” her father called after her.
Vigholf tended to a few dragons who couldn’t reach the swords or arrows embedded in their backs.
Once done with that, he was about to go in search of Rhona when her father stepped in front of him.
“You,” he said and, for a moment, Vigholf was sure Sulien had heard about Vigholf and Rhona cuddling under a tree all night. He was a ridiculously large dragon with forearms the size of large bulls. It would not be a fun fight. “Go with her.”
Vigholf blinked. “Go with who?”
“Rhona. She’s been called to talk to the queen—don’t let her face that alone.”
Vigholf quickly shifted to human and yanked the clothes off some poor, large-boned soldier who’d been walking by, and demanded, “Where is she?”
Rhona pulled out any arrows she hadn’t dealt with on the field, shifted, put on clothes, and went into the castle. The Kyvich took up most of the Great Hall, healing the few of their number who’d been wounded. As she passed, they watched her but said nothing.
“Where are we going?”
Rhona stopped, faced Vigholf, who she’d had no idea was behind her. “I’m going to see my queen.”
“All right.”
Confused, but too tired to fight about it, she kept going.
She arrived at the door of the war room and knocked. Dagmar Reinholdt opened it. “Sergeant.”
“The queen asked for me?”
“Yes.” Dagmar glanced behind Rhona. “And you brought a friend.”
Rhona didn’t bother to turn around this time; she merely rolled her eyes. “No. I didn’t. He follows me.”
“Well . . . some dogs are hard to shake,” Dagmar murmured. “You both may enter. And as Ragnar’s brother,” Dagmar said to Vigholf, “I depend on your honor not to repeat what you hear here, my lord.”
Vigholf stooped a bit to clear the doorway. “On my honor, Lady Dagmar.”
Dagmar closed the door and Rhona walked up to the table. The Dragon Queen stood on the opposite side, Talaith and Keita on the right, Ren—finally getting his color and strength back—behind the queen.
“I have a mission for you, Sergeant.”
“Of course, my queen.”
“I need you to—”
The door swung open again and Rhona’s Uncle Bercelak, whom she hadn’t seen since she’d arrived, stomped in. He sneered at Vigholf as he passed him until he reached Rhiannon’s side. “I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No.” He took her hand and pulled his mate out of the room, leaving the rest of them all standing there. It was, to say the least, an awkward moment.
That’s when Keita said, “Lovely battle today, you two. You both kill so nicely. Oh!” She snapped her fingers and cheerily added, “And don’t drink the water from the lake on the south side.”
“Why—”
Rhona tapped Vigholf’s chest with her hand, cutting him off. “Again I have to say, don’t ask. Just do what she says.”
“Choose someone else!” Bercelak bellowed from the other side of the closed door, startling them all.
“I will not, Low Born! I choose whom I like from my army even if it is your niece!”
“Choose one of my other nieces, Rhiannon. But a Dragonwarrior. One who is ready for this. Not Rhona!”
“Who says she’s not ready?”
“Me! Addolgar! H
er mother!”
No one looked at Rhona. Not that she blamed them. And when she heard the door open and close again, she wasn’t surprised that Vigholf had made his escape.
But then she heard, “Oy!” And realized it was Vigholf.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
“First off, you two,” he nearly roared, “we can hear you through the bloody door. And second, she is ready.”
What?
“How would you know, foreigner?” her always-welcoming Uncle Bercelak snapped.
“Because I’ve been fighting by that female’s side for five bloody years. Can you say the same, Fire Breather?” he sneered and silence greeted the question. That’s when Vigholf finished with, “She’s ready. Now let’s get this over with.”
Vigholf walked back in, slamming the door behind him, and stood behind Rhona once again, his arms crossed over his chest. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure what her response would be. Rage at how he’d spoken to her queen and the queen’s consort? Gratitude for having faith in her skills? Or mortification that he’d had to fight her battle for her?
Honestly, her feelings and response could go in any direction, so she silently stood her ground when the queen and her consort returned. Bercelak looked more annoyed than usual—which said much, since looking annoyed was his usual state.
Standing to Rhona’s side, Bercelak snapped, “Soldier!”
Rhona straightened her back, raised her chin. “Sir.”
“You are to head into the west, leave tonight, on foot, let no one see you. Especially since it seems that bitch Vateria has some sway over the Tribesmen.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“You are to find the missing queen—Annwyl.” Gods, Annwyl was missing? “And return her to her troops. Her legions are heading to the Euphrasia Valley as we speak to join with our dragon forces. Do you understand your orders?”
Although Rhona wanted to immediately answer, “Aye, sir,” as she always did, she knew she had one question. A question she felt the need to ask.
