by G. A. Aiken
Rhy looked off, then shook his head. “No. You’re right. She’s no longer my concern.”
“As you wish.” She kissed his snout, walked away.
“Where’s Nannulf?” he asked her as she stepped over the corpses in search of souls to take.
“No idea. Nannulf the wolf-god may be my traveling companion, lover, but we aren’t joined at the hip. But I’m sure he’s around somewhere. . . .”
Chapter 14
It was midafternoon when Morfyd finished putting the last few things into the bag that held her most important Magickal items.
At least she hoped it was the last few. She looked around the tent she’d called home for five years now and searched for anything she might be leaving behind. She could be forgetful that way. Especially when she was under a lot of stress. And since Annwyl had decided to go off on her own, Morfyd had been nothing but stressed.
She heard the tent flap pull back and she said to her apprentice, “Lolly, are you sure I have everything?”
“Cousin.”
Morfyd looked up and blinked in surprise. “Rhona?” She went to her cousin, who, like Morfyd, was in human form and dressed. She hugged her. “Gods. What are you doing here?”
“Your mother sent me.” Her cousin frowned. “Didn’t she tell you?”
“No, all I knew was that she was sending help.”
Of course Morfyd thought the help would be more like Ren or one of her mother’s apprentices. Not . . .
Oh, hells. Did it matter? At this point, did anything matter but getting that damn female back where she belonged? With her bloody troops!
Morfyd went to the middle of the tent, raised her hand, and unleashed a small spell that would seal the area around the tent with a barrier, giving them some privacy for a few minutes. That’s when she heard a small roar and a “Gods-dammit!” from outside her tent. Her cousin cleared her throat and smirked. It was nearly a smile.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not alone. But you’ve just entertained me greatly.”
Morfyd released the spell and a few seconds later, a purple-haired dragon in human form stumbled into her tent. A Lightning, rubbing his big Lightning head.
“You could have told her I was out there,” he accused Rhona.
“I could have.... Didn’t though, did I?”
“Viperous . . .” He gritted his teeth and nodded at Morfyd. “My lady.”
It took Morfyd a moment, but then she asked, “Vigholf?” It was hard to tell with his hair grown back—the hair he’d lost to Annwyl’s sword. Annwyl, as usual, had attacked first upon seeing the Lightnings on her territory. By the time she was done, Vigholf had lost his hair—luckily not his head—and his cousin Meinhard had a broken leg. In fact, Annwyl still had the Lightning’s hair sprouting from the top of her battle helm.
Morfyd looked to her cousin. “Why is he here?”
“Because I apparently can’t do anything on my own.”
“I didn’t say that. When did I say that?”
“Do not screech at me.”
“I do not screech!”
Morfyd held up her hand. “Stop it. Both of you.” She put the spell that would protect them from the outside world back in place. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” She pointed at Rhona. “You’re here to help me with my problem. Yes?”
“Aye.”
“And you”—she pointed at Vigholf—“you’re here to . . .”
“Help her help you with your problem.”
Morfyd flapped her hands impatiently. “Oh, whatever. Whatever way you two want to do this is fine by me. But I need you to get Annwyl. Even now her army asks where the hells she is.”
“They can’t function without her?” Rhona asked, appearing a tad disgusted at Annwyl’s troops.
“Of course they can. But if fighting the Sovereigns these past years has proven one thing it’s that if we want to win, Annwyl needs to lead them into battle.” Morfyd began to pace. Something she’d done a lot of lately. “Not only that, but if her troops arrive in Euphrasia Valley without Annwyl, my brother will leave my mother’s troops to go looking for her. Followed by Briec and Ghleanna once they find their daughters have gone with Annwyl. I don’t know how to explain it any better,” she told them. “I just need Annwyl back and—”
Rhona stepped in front of her, took Morfyd’s hands in her own. Morfyd hadn’t even realized she’d been wringing them.
“Listen well to me, cousin. I’ve been given my orders. Find Annwyl. Bring her back. And that is exactly what I plan to do. Even if that means razing the entire Provinces and leaving no Sovereign or Iron alive. That’s what I’ll do.”
And gods, Morfyd knew the truth of that. Give this She-dragon an order and she followed it like her very life depended on it—and gods protect those who dare step in her path.
The pretty witch suddenly wrapped her arms around her kin, giving her a desperate hug. What no one wanted to say out loud, but Vigholf knew the truth of, was that they didn’t need Annwyl back to lead her troops. Instead, what they needed was not to have the remains of a crucified Annwyl lobbed at her armies. Nothing ruined morale more than having the head of your leader tossed at you.
“It’ll be all right,” Rhona soothed, rubbing her cousin’s back. “I promise. I’ll find her.”
“When will you leave?” Morfyd asked, pulling away from her kin.
“Now.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Can you afford to spare anything?”
Morfyd shook her head. “Not really. The troops took the bulk of our remaining supplies for the trip.”
“Then we’ll get what we need on the road. Now what I need to know from you, cousin, is where you think Annwyl went.”
Morfyd eased farther away from Rhona, eyes downcast. “Uh . . .”
“Uh? Uh . . . what?”
“That’s a little tricky.”
“Right. She headed into the Provinces. We know that.”
“No. I mean, yes.”
Rhona glanced at Vigholf.
“Where is she, Morfyd?” Rhona pushed.
“She headed into the west, yes. Toward the Provinces. But I think—I’m not sure—but I think she’s not heading into the Provinces.”
“Then where is she headed?”
“Around the Provinces. I think she’s gone to find someone. Someone she thinks can help her.”
“Who, Morfyd? Spit it out.”
Morfyd faced her cousin. “Gaius Lucius Domitus.”
Again Rhona looked to him and all Vigholf could do was shrug.
“Who is that?” Rhona asked.
“The . . .” Morfyd cleared her throat. “The Rebel Dragon King of the Septima Mountains.”
Rhona folded her arms across her chest and told her cousin plainly, “Then I guess we’re a wee bit fucked, ain’t we, cousin?”
The Rebel King? The bloody Rebel King? That was who Annwyl was after?
The Rebel Dragon King of the Septima Mountains was known for two reasons—he was nephew to Overlord Thracius and he was considered the cruelest bastard in the known world.
There’d been others who’d approached Gaius Domitus before. Most of them never came back. Those who had often missed bits of themselves. Arms. Legs. Wings. He and his army lived outside the Provinces, hiding in the caves of the Septima Mountains, it was said, waiting for the day when he could take Thracius’s rule from him.
“Why,” Rhona had to ask, “would Annwyl do this? Why would she go to him?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t. She never mentioned a word to me. Then she was gone.”
“Then how do you know—”
Morfyd reached into the pocket of her witch’s robes and pulled out a small piece of parchment. She read out loud, “Went to see the Rebel King. Wish me luck.”
Exhausted to her bones, Rhona sat down in the closest chair, hooking her leg over the armrest. “Mad cow your queen.”
“Perhaps,” Vigholf said, taking the parch
ment and staring at it. “Maybe not.”
Rhona gawked at him. “How do you figure?”
“Imagine if the mad bitch can get the Rebel King on our side? If she gets him to fight with us . . .”
“Or,” Morfyd reasoned, “she could turn him against us by . . . oh, I don’t know . . . cutting off his hair while trying to cut off his head?”
Vigholf flinched and handed the paper back to Morfyd. “Point taken.” He looked at Rhona. “So what do you want to do?”
“What can I do? I have to get her. Maybe, if I’m lucky, she hasn’t found him yet. Of course, never really been lucky,” she sighed out.
“Hopefully that’ll change.” Vigholf motioned her up. “Let’s go, Fire Breather. We’ve got miles to make.”
“On foot?”
“Is this about the horses again? I’m a dragon, female. Horses are supposed to be terrified of me.”
“Well, that terror isn’t bloody helping us now, is it?”
“I have something for that,” Morfyd said. She dug into a bag she had lying on her bed and pulled out a necklace. A talisman probably, but a boring one. Just a simple black stone hanging from a plain silver chain. “Wear this.”
Vigholf reared back from the necklace Morfyd held out to him. “That’s all right.”
“You scared, Northlander?” Rhona couldn’t help but tease. “Scared of a little necklace?”
“It’s nothing dangerous,” Morfyd promised, ignoring the way Vigholf glared at Rhona. “It’ll simply help you with horses. Make them a little less afraid of you. Here. Take it.”
When Vigholf didn’t, Rhona got to her feet. “Honestly! You’d think it was a snake, the way you’re acting.” She snatched the necklace from her cousin and went up on her toes to get the silver chain over his head.
“The chain’s too small,” he complained. “When I shift it’ll choke me to death.”
“If only,” Rhona muttered, earning another glare.
“It’ll grow with you, Vigholf,” Morfyd promised, which just seemed to upset Vigholf more.
“How is that normal?” he demanded.
“Stop it,” Rhona told him while she tucked the necklace under his clothes. “You’re worse than a hatchling.”
Rhona faced her cousin. “Anything else you need to horrify us with before we leave?”
“I think Gaius Domitus is horrifying enough, don’t you?”
“Aye, cousin, I do.” She hugged Morfyd again. “Don’t worry,” she whispered against her ear. “I’ll find Annwyl and the others. I’ll bring them home.”
Morfyd squeezed her tight. “Thank you, Rhona. Thank you so very much.”
Rhona walked out of the tent and through the camp. The Lightning beside her, his hand against his chest where the talisman rested.
“Leave it alone.”
“It’s searing my skin.”
“No, it’s not. It’s in your head.” But he still kept fussing with his clothes, so she grabbed his hand and pulled it away while she continued to walk.
They were nearly clear of what was left of Annwyl’s camp when she realized that she still held the Lightning’s hand. She tried to release it, but his grip tightened and he smiled at her.
“You truly are pathetic, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Not pathetic,” Vigholf reasoned. “Sneaky.”
“I’ve dealt with sneaky. You forget I babysat for Keita. She’s sneaky.”
He didn’t bother to argue with that and they left camp—with Vigholf still holding her hand.
Fearghus the Destroyer took a break from working in the tunnel. He walked down to the cavern where fresh water was kept and grabbed one of the buckets. He took a long, satisfying drink and poured the remainder over his head. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and that’s when he saw his younger brother glaring at him.
“What are you doing?” Gwenvael the Pain in the Ass demanded. He’d gotten this . . . tone lately that none of them were too fond of. Especially Fearghus.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“We don’t have time for you to be lounging around, sitting on your tail, doing nothing.”
Fearghus looked at the bucket in his claws. “I needed water.”
“But you didn’t drink and go. You drank and sat around.”
“For two seconds!”
“Look,” Gwenvael snarled at Fearghus, “we have maybe another week on this bloody tunnel. The sooner we finish it, the sooner we can kill the Irons and go home. And I’m not about to let you or anyone stop me from going home!”
Fed up with his brother’s whining—they were all missing their mates, not just him—Fearghus slapped his claw against Gwenvael’s chest and shoved him back. “You need to calm the battle-fuck down, brother.”
“And you need to get off your lazy ass and work!”
“Stop it! Stop it!” Éibhear got between them. “Brothers shouldn’t be fighting this way!”
Fearghus and Gwenvael stared at their very sincere baby brother; then they looked at each other. That’s when they started laughing and seemed incapable of stopping.
“What’s so bloody funny?”
“You,” Fearghus told him. “Telling us that we shouldn’t fight? After all that’s gone on between you and Celyn?”
“That’s different,” Éibhear growled.
Not really, but try to tell that to Éibhear the Blue.
Fearghus’s baby brother had been a right bastard toward Celyn since he found out Celyn had gone where Éibhear was too afraid to go with their niece Izzy. Of course Izzy wasn’t related to any of them by blood, but that didn’t matter. As far as Fearghus, Briec, and Gwenvael were concerned, Izzy was kin. But poor Éibhear didn’t know what to do with little Izzy. He was simply too young to sort out his feelings. So, instead, he beat up on his cousin. Constantly. And Celyn, being a right prat when in the mood, fought back.
Really, though, there was nothing to be done with either idiot. They were at that awkward stage for dragons. Not quite adults but no longer cute little hatchlings either.
But gods, it had been five years. Five years! Get over it already!
Briec entered the cavern and walked over to his brothers. “Anyone seen Keita?”
“Should we be looking for her?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking?” Fearghus wanted to know.
“Because I haven’t seen her. She is our sister.”
“She’s probably off poisoning someone. I wouldn’t worry.”
Briec grunted until he asked a scowling Gwenvael, “Why are you glaring at me?”
“I’m wondering why you’re all not working !”
“That is it.” Briec pulled his sword and Éibhear immediately grabbed him. “I’m cutting off the rest of that bastard’s tail!”
Chapter 15
By late afternoon they hadn’t gotten nearly as far as Rhona wanted. Going on foot was tedious and she was anxious to find Annwyl. If there was even a chance the royal hadn’t made it into the Provinces yet, Rhona might be able to get the wayward queen and drag her back to her troops. But if they kept moving like this, there was no hope that would happen.
“There’s some horses,” Vigholf offered while he chewed on more dried beef. At this rate, she’d have to find a vendor soon to replenish their supplies. If she were alone, she’d have enough beef to last her for at least a week. Maybe two. But with Sir Eats-a-Lot, she stood no chance that would happen.
“Those are wild horses. We’re better off buying tame ones,” she suggested.
“Buying them? Why?”
“They’ll be more docile, less chance of skittering off at the first scent of you.”
“But I’ve got this thing that Princess Morfyd gave me.”
“True, but I’m sure that can only do so—”
“And I doubt your docile horses can carry me. I’m not exactly light.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“We should try.” And off he went.
Gods! Dealing with the Lightning was like herding rats. A useless enterprise that would do nothing but make her annoyed.
“Wait,” Rhona called out while running to catch up.
“Shhhh. You’ll spook them.”
“I’ll spook them?”
“You stay back there.”
“You don’t know anything about horses except how to turn them on a spit.”
“But I have this talisman thing,” he boasted, suddenly falling in love with that bloody necklace. “It’ll lure the horses right to—”
Rhona stopped in her tracks, eyes wide, watching the enormous chestnut-colored stallion run right into and right over Vigholf.
Vigholf hit the ground hard, startled and clearly hurt.
“Gods-dammit! Demon beast!”
Rhona slapped her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter in. Especially when the stallion came charging back, knocking Vigholf back to the ground before he’d managed to get off his knees.
“Aaaaaargh!”
The horse came back again, but this time he began to pummel Vigholf with his hooves, pushing and shoving the Lightning away from the other horses.
“I don’t think he likes you,” Rhona informed her traveling companion, something that got her a lovely glare.
Finally getting his bearings, Vigholf knelt on one knee. The stallion turned, moments from raising himself up on his hind legs so he could pummel Vigholf some more with his front. But Vigholf slammed his hand against the horse’s chest.
“If you kill him,” she warned, “no horse will ever come near you again.”
“I’m not going to kill him,” Vigholf snarled. “I’m just going to teach the bastard a lesson.” Vigholf shoved the horse back and finally got to his feet. There were cuts on his face and bruises on his neck, and he briefly rubbed his chest, which made her worry some of his human ribs may be broken.
Vigholf raised his fists and Rhona wondered if the dragon had any sense at all.
“You can’t fistfight him!”
“He started it!”
To ensure that Rhona understood that, the horse slammed his hoof into Vigholf’s head. The Lightning snarled and punched back with a double tap, striking the beast in the snout and throat. Unlike the Tribesman’s smaller horse, however, this one wasn’t knocked unconscious, but he was definitely more irritated.
