With Dragons She Walks

by Darby, Brit

  “As long as he lives, he can speak. You must not risk a public killing.”

  Throwing both his hands up in exasperation, Edwin offered one final deal. “What if I have his tongue cut out just before he is paraded out to die. Will that do?”

  Gunnar nodded.

  Edwin sighed. “Perhaps it is best this way; his screams might prove too much for my genteel guests. It wouldn’t do to upset them. After all, a wedding is such a happy occasion.”

  “THERE IS SOMEONE WHO insists on seeing you.”

  Cailin raised her head to see Donald standing in the doorway to her room. Curious, she followed him down the hall to a small sitting area above the stairs. She tensed as soon as she spotted the blue cloak.

  “Thyra.” Cailin managed to speak, but her throat tightened anxiously. She glanced about, thinking Gunnar must be near as well. Wary, she stepped forward as the other woman turned to face her.

  Thyra’s face was bruised, but that was not what gave Cailin the greater pause. The woman’s dark eyes were strangely bright, but the haunted look in them raised the hairs on Cailin’s neck. Still cautious, she moved closer while remaining out of reach.

  “Do not worry,” Thyra said. “I am here to make amends.”

  “I do not believe you.”

  “Please,” Thyra’s grimaced in pain and grabbed her belly. “May I sit? I fear I might fall.”

  Donald still remained protectively close to Cailin, hand on his sword hilt, but at Cailin’s nod he brought the visitor a chair to sit in. Slowly, Thyra lowered herself, her breathing labored as another spasm shook her.

  “What ails you? Last I saw you, you were quite well.”

  Cailin’s question brought Thyra’s gaze back to her. The sadness and shame she read in those dark depths took her breath away.

  “Can I fetch a physic?” Cailin offered. “You do not look at all well.”

  Her tone was softer, gentler now, and Thyra reacted in kind. “No,” she shook her head, gasping from the simple effort of it. “There is naught you can do for me. I came to tell you something. Please, sit. It tires me to look up.”

  Instead, Cailin knelt beside the chair and reached up to take the woman’s hand. She felt saddened by the sight before her. Once Thyra was vibrant, dangerous, proud. Now, only a shell of the woman remained.

  “What did Gunnar do to you?”

  “He has done plenty, but no more than I deserved. It is only now that I truly understand who and what you are. I beg your forgiveness, Cailin.”

  “Your actions harmed others more than me. There is nothing you have done that should overly concern you now. You must let me get help.”

  Thyra smiled and squeezed Cailin’s hand weakly. “You are kind to worry for me. But do not. I came to say be quick, and you may yet see the mighty Gunnar fall. At the hands of a mere woman.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Thyra drew a sharp, ragged breath, her face twisted in pain. She fell forward in the chair, slumped into Cailin’s arms. When the pain subsided, Thyra licked her dry lips and whispered in Cailin’s ear, “I knew he would not drink the wine unless I did. I am half his size, so it will take longer to kill him. I revealed the truth to your father’s men, now they wait for you at the castle gate to aid you and avenge him. You must go there.”

  “What?” Cailin understood what Thyra was saying but couldn’t believe it. The woman had poisoned herself to poison Gunnar. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because you walk with Dragons.”

  Cailin felt tears on her cheek, tears for a woman she had counted as an enemy — a woman who lay dying in her arms. “You should not—”

  Thyra interrupted her. “Gunnar cannot harm you from Muspellheim. Please, I have done nothing of worth in my life; let me leave this world knowing I have done one kind thing.”

  Cailin was stunned, words catching in her throat as she watched the light fading from the woman’s eyes. Finally, she found her voice and said softly, “Do you see the Dragons, Thyra? They come for you, to take you to Asgard.”

  Slight laughter rumbled within her chest. “I’m not so far gone that I don’t know you are lying. But I thank you all the same for it.”

  Cailin drew back slightly and smiled kindly at Thyra. “All is forgiven,” she whispered.

  Weakly, Thyra reached up and felt Cailin’s cheek, a trail of tears wetting her fingertips. “You cry for me?” Her hand fell as her last breath wheezed from her chest.

  “Yes,” Cailin whispered, “and I never cry.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  MOIRA WATCHED AS THE guests gathered, the mood more like a funeral than a wedding. Lachlan stood by her side, anxious and tense as they waited for the ceremony to begin. She knew it was difficult for him to understand the reasons for their presence, and even more so, the reason Shona would wed another this day.

  As if reading her thoughts, her son looked down at her and asked, “Where is Thorvald? If we were allowed out of the dungeon, why was Thorvald not allowed to come with us?”

  Lachlan had grown fond of the man, though confusion still remained about who he was. Moira and Thorvald thought it best not to try and explain, but allow him whatever answers came to his unique mind.

  How could she possibly tell Lachlan that his real father was to be executed? In front of the entire assembly of so-called guests. She longed to spare him such an ordeal, but Thorvald insisted she do what she must to appease Edwin and keep their son safe. With each second that passed, Moira felt her pulse quicken as dread swelled within her breast.

  The tension in the room mounted. Lord Talorcan looked grim as he stood up to give his daughter in marriage to an aging slob of a man, his anger visible. The poor bride was as pale as a ghost. Moira feared Shona might faint dead-away before the vows were finished.

  Just the thought of such a sweet girl being married to one of Edwin’s cronies made Moira’s own stomach revolt. She bit her lip hard to keep from screaming in protest.

  Edwin motioned to his guard and she overheard his command. “Bring up the Vik from the dungeon. What of that other blond behemoth? He was anxious to see Thorvald’s execution, and now, I see him not.”

  The bishop looked about, unable to locate the man he spoke of. He shrugged, considering it no longer important. “Oh well. Bring the prisoner, let the entertainment begin. The crowd grows restless.”

  Then he added, “Never mind cutting out his tongue. I feel quite puckish today. I think I’d like to hear him scream. Maybe that will liven up this somber crowd.”

  The guard started off, but stopped when Edwin spoke again. “Oh, and when we’ve gutted this Northman, find the other one and see him dead as well.”

  Moira felt her knees go weak, but a strong hand grasp her elbow in support. When she looked up at the gentleman, she found Donald standing by her other side. “Now, Moira lass, I would think it best if you do not look so surprised an’ continue on as if nothin’s amiss.”

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered, trying to do as he asked and stay calm, though her heart was pounding hard.

  “I am t’ take you and the lad t’ a safe place when all hell breaks loose.”

  “If you insist, Donald.” She smiled faintly. “I must say I’m very happy to see you.”

  LEO QUICKLY WOUND THROUGH the narrow, dank passageways beneath the castle, the rough map he held leading him to the prison cells hidden in the deep caverns of rock. The giant Jagun trotted at his heels, carrying a torch overhead. The few guards they encountered were dispatched by the Mongol and they moved on.

  They heard a small group of guardsmen approaching, long before they appeared. Sounds echoed off the rock walls, giving early warning. Hiding around a corner, they allowed the soldiers to pass, then without a sound, turned and followed.

  Leo allowed the guards to unlock the massive door that led into the main prison, before he nudged Jagun and the giant fell upon them. The emperor’s former champion made short work of six ordinary-sized men, not even a sc
ream escaped one of them as he snapped necks and spines with rapid, ruthless efficiency.

  Leo reached out and gave Jagun a hearty pat on the shoulder. “You’re quite handy to have around. Remind me to buy you a pint later, my friend.”

  Jagun looked puzzled, then he slapped Leo’s back, his brute strength nearly toppling the younger man. “Friend?”

  “Well,” Leo amended as he spoke through the pain, “not just any friend, but the best of friends.”

  A huge smile crossed the Mongol’s face, his head bobbed up and down in eager agreement. As the two men stepped over the bodies and moved on, Leo heard Jagun mutter wonderingly to himself, friend.

  Within minutes they found the imprisoned castle guard and Lord Talorcan’s escort. Leo motioned for Jagun to release them and continued down the row to the next cell door. Looking inside, Leo saw the Viking, Cailin’s father. He had never seen the man but knew it was Thorvald by her description. He slid the large key into the lock and turned it. When he opened the door, the man was gone. Before he could react, he was taken from behind, the big man’s arm slamming like a log across his throat.

  “Thorvald,” Leo wheezed, the grip cutting off his air.

  The man lessened his hold, but did not release him. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?”

  “Cailin sent me.”

  “Cailin?” He released Leo. “What is my daughter doing here?”

  Leo coughed and rubbed his neck, causing creaks and cracks as he worked it from side to side. “I believe now is not the time for chit-chat. We’d best get up to the main castle, I have a feeling we’ll be needed.”

  Thorvald nodded.

  “Are you able to fight?”

  “Aye, would take more than a few months in a dungeon to keep me from it.”

  CAILIN MADE HER WAY down the hallway leading from the kitchen, avoiding servants as they rushed about their duties. She kept a hood pulled tight and low over her head, disguising and obscuring her face as best she could. It was far too many years since she was here and it felt strange. She knew where she was going, yet it was like it a distant dream instead of reality.

  Drake and many of her mother’s MacGregor kinsmen were mingling into the crowd upstairs in the main hall, while Thorvald’s men took care of Edwin’s guards outside the castle keep. Leo and Jagun would come up from the dungeon soon with the castle guard, Lord Talorcan’s men, and hopefully, her father. Cailin stopped in front of a door and slid the latch open. Kasimir and his pirates flooded into the storeroom behind the kitchens.

  Just as they were about to move toward the stairs, someone spoke behind them. “What are you doing here?”

  They whirled about and saw a manservant holding a flagon of wine. Cailin put her hand on Kasimir’s sword hilt, stilling his instinctive reaction. “We are the entertainers. I fear we have gotten turned around. Which way is the grand wedding celebration?”

  The servant remained silent, as if uncertain he believed her. Suddenly, a ballad drifted through the vast hallways, a man’s voice clear and strong. Words of lost love and heartbreak wafted over them.

  “They have started without us, we must hurry.” The gaudily-garbed Kasimir flashed a broad smile to distract the other man.

  The servant looked doubtful but pointed the way, and said nothing more as they passed, one by one, until they had disappeared down the hall and out of sight.

  EDWIN GREW IMPATIENT. WHAT was taking so long? He looked over to the door where he expected his prized prisoner brought in. He struck out at Charles who sat nearest him and hissed, “Go see what the fuck is wrong.”

  Obediently, Charles leaped to his feet, rushed through the crowd and out the door. Minutes passed and Edwin angrily decided he was going to have to do everything himself to get it done right. The balladeer finished his song and the hall fell into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, the main door opened and a murmur went through the crowd when Thorvald was shoved into their midst, hands bound and a rope about his neck.

  Elation pushed away Edwin’s irritation. He was looking forward to this, possibly even more than sharing the bridal bed with Charles this night. Yes, he thought, this would prove great entertainment.

  Thorvald struggled like a wild man, and his jailer had a difficult time dragging him before the raised dais where Edwin reigned. But, eventually, he won out, forcing the ragged man to his knees before the bishop. Everyone moved back, giving the fierce Viking a wide berth, his growls and guttural curses causing a nervous stir in the unwilling audience.

  DRAKE COULDN’T HELP BUT grin. Leo’s and Thorvald’s performances were quite convincing. It achieved what they needed, a distraction. Whilst all eyes were on the commotion, several of the guards in the room were taken out with little notice. Only one man seemed to notice the action behind the scene, Athol. Alert, he studied the crowd, and his gaze fell upon Drake.

  Their gazes locked across the hall and Drake felt the years he was away descend upon him like a weight, his heart constricting painfully. But the change in his father’s expression gave him courage to push back emotion and do what he had to do.

  He made his way through the crowd and came to stand near where the bishop presided. Edwin’s eyes were fixed upon Thorvald and not him. To get the man’s attention, he stepped directly in front of Thorvald.

  “What is this?” Edwin demanded, impatient and eager to carry out the execution.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to forego the entertainment this evening, Your Grace.” Drake glanced at the many wide eyes watching them now. “I’m certain there is no one here that would object.”

  Silence confirmed that fact. Drake went on. “I also have to say that I object very much to you marrying off this beautiful young lady to a pig. Shona, I believe your father wishes to take you home.” He turned to the pale, frail-looking bride who looked as if she awaited a death sentence herself.

  Edwin was stupefied, unable to say a word.

  Drake watched his father take Shona’s arm and started to lead her away. By then, Edwin regained his wits. He grabbed her by the wrist in passing and snarled, “Who do you think you are to interrupt my celebration? Guards, kill him!”

  Athol pulled the swooning Shona free and struck the soldier down who tried to stop them from leaving. Despite his age, he was no less a fighter than his son. Drake pulled his sword, as did Leo. Thorvald quickly shook free of the loose ropes and garroted a guard to relieve him of his weapon. The giant Mongol grabbed two men at a time, using them like anvils against each other, smashing them in pairs and leaving a wake of bodies behind. The castle guard swarmed in, as did Cailin and Kasimir with his pirates. Outside the keep, full war waged between Thorvald’s men and Edwin’s remaining soldiers.

  Edwin watched as his men were cut down systematically, their greater numbers dwindling as all groups converged and battle ensued in the main hall. Sensing imminent danger, he gathered his robes up and eased toward the exit.

  Two men collided, blocking his way. Picking up a sword, Edwin raised it to plunge into the unprotected back before him. He cared not if it was his own man, he needed past. He struck, the man twisted just as the blade caught flesh.

  Drake’s own sword cut down the soldier in one swift movement before he whirled to face Edwin.

  “Who the hell are you?” Edwin yelled.

  “My husband,” Cailin said, drawing both of their gazes to her.

  Edwin’s eyes showed no recognition at first, but slowly, it dawned on him as he saw the similarity in the twin’s looks. “Cailin?” he muttered, still uncertain.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” she quipped, though there was no humor in her tone.

  “Gunnar said you were here. But I didn’t believe a madman’s rantings.”

  “It’s true enough.”

  Just then another soldier distracted Drake, and he fought off an attack, forced to move away. Suddenly a thin youth rushed into their midst, wielding a red-hot poker like a sword. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, his hand shook a
s he gripped his make-shift weapon, piercing the air threateningly in Cailin’s direction. “Get behind me, Your Grace!”

  “Charles,” Edwin exclaimed with relief. Cailin saw the bishop did not hesitate to use the lad as a body shield, but hurried behind him and peeped out at her.

  Furious, Cailin stepped forward and grabbed the red hot poker with her bare hand. She yanked it from Charles and tossed it aside, where it clanged and sizzled on the flagstones. Shock crossed the youth’s face. “Are you truly willing to die for the likes of him, boy?”

  Charles looked at her unburned palm, his fear visible. Decision made, he turned and fled.

  “Coward!” Edwin screamed after him. Forced to confront Cailin then, he yelled and lunged wildly at her with his sword. She countered calmly, Dragon swords drawn and ready.

  Edwin laughed. “You think those little toys will be enough?”

  She ignored his taunts.

  He looked her up and down as he circled her, sneering. “I see the little witch is all grown up. Tell me, have your visions foretold your death, Cailin?”

  “No, I’ve seen only yours.”

  His smile disappeared. He struck out, once, twice, three times with his sword, each movement deflected by her expert hand. Edwin approached again, this time with more muscle behind his strokes. A flush stained his face as he tried again and again, never making headway against her agile responses.

  It was Cailin’s turn to smile.

  Edwin grew angrier as she toyed with him. He lunged for her heart, and again drew air. Like a bull he charged full force, his cries of outrage fueling his tired arm. Over, under, around, it mattered not, she countered him at every turn. Her twin swords sparked and clanged with flashes of silver, the Dragon heads mocking, laughing, and grating upon his strained nerves.

  Edwin’s breathing was labored and he could not draw enough air to ease the pain. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring the vision before him. Cailin was a hellion unleashed, the tips of her blades now drawing blood at will. Everywhere he turned, she was there, swords singing, tearing into flesh and nicking bone, bit by bit.