by Ann Gimpel
Dragon’s Blood
A Dystopian Fantasy
Ann Gimpel
Contents
Dragon’s Blood
Book Description, Dragon’s Blood
Books in the Dragon Heir Series
Author’s Note
1. Chapter One, Rowan
2. Chapter Two, Bjorn
3. Chapter Three, Rowan
4. Chapter Four, Bjorn
5. Chapter Five, Rowan
6. Chapter Six, Bjorn
7. Chapter Seven, Rowan
8. Chapter Eight, Bjorn
9. Chapter Nine, Rowan
10. Chapter Ten, Bjorn
11. Chapter Eleven, Rowan
12. Chapter Twelve, Bjorn
13. Chapter Thirteen, Rowan
14. Chapter Fourteen, Zelli
15. Chapter Fifteen, Bjorn
16. Chapter Sixteen, Rowan
17. Chapter Seventeen, Bjorn
18. Chapter Eighteen, Rowan
19. Chapter Nineteen, Bjorn
20. Chapter Twenty, Rowan
Book Description, Dragon’s Heir
Dragon’s Heir, Chapter One, Rowan
About the Author
Also by Ann Gimpel
Dragon’s Blood
Dragon Heir, Book Two
A Dystopian Fantasy
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By
Ann Gimpel
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Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, and dragons
Copyright Page
All rights reserved.
Copyright © June 2019, Ann Gimpel
Cover Art Copyright © July 2019, Covers by Julie
Edited by: Kate Richards
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, e-mail, or web posting without written permission from the author.
Book Description, Dragon’s Blood
After discovering she’s half dragon, Rowan figures it can’t be any worse than being related to the Celts. That’s the thing about assumptions, though. They come round and bite you in the ass.
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The second book in a magic-laced, fast-paced, fantasy trilogy. With dragons.
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I’d rather fight than study, but I’m stuck poring over dusty scrolls. I promised I’d learn about the dragon part of my magic, but I’m having a hell of a hard time believing there’s some concealed strain of power just waiting for me to kindle it. Meanwhile, my friends the witches are playing fast and loose with remaining hidden.
My Celtic kin won’t bother them anymore—at least I don’t think they will. But far worse things rove Earth than the Celtic gods. The Breaking has developed an energy all its own. The longer it runs wild, the harder it will be to contain.
Soon, very soon, no magic in the Nine Worlds will be enough to counteract it. Once that happens, the few remaining mortals will go first, but the rest of us won’t be far behind them.
Books in the Dragon Heir Series
Dragon’s Call, Book One
Dragon’s Blood, Book Two
Dragon’s Heir, Book Three
Author’s Note
If I seem to be on a dragon kick here, it began long ago. My first runaway bestselling trilogy, Earth Reclaimed, had dragons in it. So did my almost-as-successful Dragon Lore series. Dragons have made cameo appearances in other books as well.
Well, maybe slightly more than cameos in the Ice Dragon series.
Beyond dragons, I’ve had a lifelong love affair with both the Celtic and Norse pantheons. While writing one long-ago book, I swore no Celtic gods. Nope. Nary a one. Well, along about Chapter Five, who should come strolling out of the wasteland but Fionn MacCumhaill, Celtic god of creation, protection, knowledge, and divination.
I gave up to my muse thereafter. She hasn’t led me astray yet.
Welcome to another series that blends the Celtic and Norse pantheons. In my imagination, the deities all know one another. It was a pretty intimate circle filled with petty—and not so petty—squabbling. Add enough acts of unbelievable valor to keep things on an even keel, and the foundations of a story magically appear.
Chapter One, Rowan
Fire painted the sky and the ground, so much fire I saw red even through my closed lids. Keeping my eyes shut was a very bad idea, though. Dragons surrounded me. Maybe not more than a dozen, but they were so freaking big, it felt like more. They were ostensibly teaching me how to fight, except I already possessed that particular talent. In between salvos, they chittered merrily among themselves like a pack of oversized crows. Occasionally, I picked up bits and pieces of their mind speech.
Coming out victorious in a good scrap has always been high on my list. I haven’t had a hell of a lot of choice in the matter. Mostly, it was fight or be vanquished. It’s not possible to kill me, but there are many, many punishments that would make me long for my own death.
Anyway, it surprised and annoyed the crap out of me when a red dragon who hadn’t introduced himself—herself?—announced that today we’d shore up my battle talents. If he’d asked what I wanted, I’d have replied, “No thank you.”
I’m at the bottom of their pecking order, though. Probably less than the bottom. No one ever asks me jack crap.
A cloud of ash and smoke billowed around me, followed by trumpeting. Clearly, one of my tormentors—er, teachers—had discovered my attention was wandering. Wracked by coughing from all the smoke, I resorted to telepathy.
“Stop!”
Ysien, one of the blue dragons, hooted laughter. “Aye. And the enemy will surely cease if ye but tell them ye’ve had enough.”
No one made fun of me. No one.
Trapped between embarrassment and fury, I made a grab for Bjorn’s power. He had to be out there somewhere beyond the impenetrable blanket of smoke. We were amazing fighting together, but today for whatever reason, the dragons had apparently told him to sit this one out. He’s not the type to take orders, so they must have forced him to remain off the field.
Blech. Dragons.
When Nidhogg, the chief Norse dragon who was also conveniently absent today, told me I had to learn about the dragon half of my blood, I’d reluctantly agreed. I’d had zero idea about the non-Celtic sector of my parentage until a scant handful of days ago. Anyway, at the time Nidhogg floated the idea about tutors for me, he’d intimated a single dragon would show up each day.
I had no fucking idea why I merited the attentions of so many. Were they bored? Had they come to examine the one and only Dragon Heir ever, who was a mix of Celtic and dragon bloodlines?
Was one of them my father?
So far, everyone had been closemouthed about that little tidbit. So secretive, I wasn’t expecting a dragon to burst out of the ether and scoop me up in his scaled forelegs, greeting me as fathers did in my imagination. The dragons had known about me since my birth, and no one bothered to show up with flowers and a pile of excuses about why they’d left me in Ceridwen’s care. Or non-care, which was closer to the way things played out.
My thoughts may have taken off at Mach 10, but I can think and fight. My current mission was lobbing jolts of defensive magic to clear a circle around me. My bid to locate Bjorn had failed, so the dragons’ barrier between us must cut both ways. If he could have reached me, he would have.
Bjorn Nighthorse is another mystery, but I didn’t have time to p
ick it apart right now. With his ice-blond hair and eyes like a storm-tossed ocean, he’s so striking it’s sometimes tough for me to look at him. Feels like I’ve fallen off a cliff into a dangerous no-man’s land. One where the only way out is to wrap my body around his and never, never let him go.
My defensive perimeter had expanded to a ring a meter wide. Within its boundaries, the smoke had almost cleared. Being able to get a full breath into my lungs helped.
I resorted to the same strategy I’ve always used. Nothing fancy about it. When I’m surrounded, I pick ’em off one at a time. I live in a body that looks human, but most of the bastards I fight are bigger than me, or they have thick hides or horns or scales or other impediments—like poison—that make it tough to do anything straightforward. Like reaching inside them to stop their hearts. Hell, some of them, like trolls, don’t even have hearts. Goddess only knows what keeps them upright.
From somewhere far away, I heard Bjorn shouting. He sounded furious and worried. The tone of his curses suggested he’d been trying to break through to me from his end of things, exactly as I’d suspected.
I focused my attention on a single dragon. And I sort of cheated because I picked the smallest one, small being relative. This one was green and stood a bit over two meters tall. I’d never vanquish it in straight-on combat, so I teleported onto its back where it couldn’t reach me with fire. Breathing shallowly, I tried to bring some of my protective bubble along.
Didn’t work very well. Teleport spells are picky like that. I didn’t want to take the time to resurrect my shielding. Besides, the smoke had only been bad next to me—before I’d gone into full attack mode. The dragon I’d selected was bellowing and wrapping power-imbued strips around itself to either shake me off or press me into its thorny hide so hard its scales would cut into my flesh.
Couldn’t let that happen. My blood would give it power over me. Enough to immobilize my efforts. I unleashed my instincts, pulled the dirk I always carry from its sheath banded to my thigh, and used scales for purchase to crawl up its neck.
Sticking the point of my dagger in the one place beneath its jaws not coated by horny plates, I shrieked, “Surrender.”
Everything around me went quiet. No more bellows, trumpets, or bugles. For the moment, no more fire.
Ysien lumbered close. “Well done, Dragon Heir.”
“No lack of guts.” The dragon beneath me shook itself again, but I had a good hold on it. Its praise pleased me, but words were cheap.
I wasn’t in a hurry to cede my advantage, so I left the knife in place. Dragons are immortal. I couldn’t do much damage, but I wanted to hang onto the illusion of having the upper hand.
“Runa!” Ysien’s tone had developed an edge. “Stand down.”
“Don’t call me that.” I couldn’t risk taking my attention from the hand that held my blade.
“’Tis your name, and high time ye claimed it.”
“We are done for today,” I announced.
“I told you to sheathe your weapon. Dragons do not raise their talons against their own.”
“So, it’s only acceptable if you’re attacking me?” I clung to my almost nonexistent advantage and repeated, “We are done for today. Once you agree, I will jump down.”
A sheet of fire roared past me. Roared was an understatement. It sounded like a giant blowtorch and felt as if someone had opened a gateway into Hell. Sweat sheened my body; I curled my damp fingers tighter around the hilt of my knife.
“Agreed,” Ysien snarled.
Blade still in hand, I climbed down Greenie’s neck, jumped lightly to the ground, and tucked my weapon away. Ysien furled his wings, but I shot in front of him and said, “Hold up a moment.” I tacked, “please,” on as an afterthought.
He didn’t fold his wings, but he didn’t flap them, either. The dragon stared at me with his whirling gaze. Maybe because of my dragon blood, I can look directly at them without becoming snared in whatever spell they choose to weave. I’ve only tested that theory recently, mind you. Before that, I hadn’t come across any dragons to practice on.
I settled my hands on my hips. “I have claimed my name. I’m not using it because true names offer power over the bearer.”
Smoke puffed from his nostrils. “But we all know your name. We’ve known it since your birth.”
Awk. There it was again. Proof of one more set of relatives who could give a fuck less about me. At least the Celts hadn’t made a secret over not giving a crap. Discovering a second batch who’d considered me irrelevant should be like water slipping off a dolphin’s back. Except it wasn’t. Their indifference stung.
I cursed myself for a chump.
“The length of time you’ve known my name is irrelevant. If it’s rolling around in your minds, anyone with magic could discover it. I’ve been Rowan since my birth, and Rowan I shall remain until I tell you different.”
Before he could protest or tell me it wasn’t my choice—which it goddamn well was—I went on. “When Nidhogg told me I’d have assistance learning the dragon portion of my magic, he said one dragon would show up each day. One.” I flapped my hands for emphasis before resettling them on my hips.
“What the fuck?” I went on. I was on a roll, and not in the mood to shut up. “Why are all of you here? Don’t you have anything more interesting to occupy your time?”
No one answered, but twelve sets of whirling eyes bored into me. Unpleasant doesn’t come close to describing how creepy that felt. I forged ahead anyhow. What choice did I have? When you clue bullies in that they’re getting to you, you’re screwed. I shoved my shoulders straighter and said, “I thought part of my training was to push the boundaries of how my magic slots with Bjorn’s, but you blocked us from each other. Why?”
Ysien did answer that question. “To see how ye did on your own. Why else?”
“Pfft. I’ve been ‘on my own’ practically since I was born.” I would have stamped my foot, except it felt juvenile. “I’m starting to feel like some kind of circus attraction. Does Nidhogg know all of you are milling in circles practically salivating over the anomaly you’ve known about but ignored for centuries?”
A red dragon took a step toward me. “We had our reasons.”
“And they were?”
“Ye shall know at the proper time,” Ysien told me. He’s always had a patronizing way about him that grates on my nerves.
Breath swooshed from my lungs. I wanted to punch him, but he wouldn’t even have noticed, no matter how much force I put behind the blow. “You’re as bad as Ceridwen,” I growled. “At least she was honest about how much she hated me.”
“Apologize.” Ysien hooded his eyes and bent his neck so his head was more on a level with mine. “I am nothing like your Celtic whore of a mother.”
My temper has always been a stumbling block, and I reined mine in. Still, I wasn’t about to grovel. I settled for saying, “Insofar as I know, no dragon has lied to me directly.” I stopped before launching into how lies of omission weren’t any better.
“Dragons do not lie.” He snapped his jaws with their double rows of teeth shut. The clack sounded like a small cannon exploding.
Yeah, but you’re masters at twisting the truth.
I cleared my thoughts fast. Among their other talents, dragons are exceptional mind readers. I’d been excited to discover I had a brand new extended family, but the novelty had faded fast. My commitment to learn about how to maximize my dragon-linked magic was waffling too.
I wanted to return to Midgard—Earth—and the witches who’d offered me home and hearth and family after I’d walked out on the Celtic pantheon. The witches were worth my time and my magic.
Instead, I was in Vanaheim standing in a substantial clearing not far from Bjorn’s cottage. Made of cunningly interlocking stones with very little mortar between them, the cottage looked as if it had been here for hundreds of years. Who knows? Perhaps it had. Unlike Earth, where most didn’t wield magic, everyone I’d met in Vanaheim had at l
east some.
Bjorn possessed far more than “some.” He’s the master sorcerer in all the Nine Worlds, and his power defied description.
“We shall leave you to your student,” the red dragon told Ysien. From the beast’s voice tones, I was fairly certain it was female. Her emphasis on student made it sound like what she meant was, “good luck corralling that headstrong monster you were stupid enough to invite into our midst.” But perhaps I was overreacting.
“Ye will leave when I dismiss you.” Ysien stopped staring at me and glared at her.
I fully expected the Red to tell him to piss up a rope. Instead she bowed her head ever so briefly. The only indication she wanted to strangle him was the smoke wafting from her nostrils and around her jammed-shut jaws.
“We have one final task today while many of us are here,” Ysien announced.
Crappity crap. There was that tone again. The one that screamed he ran the universe. Why the others put up with it for a second was beyond me. He scanned the dragons and crooked a talon at a copper-colored one. Dragon talons are blood-red, maybe ten centimeters long, and razor sharp. They’re beautiful if you can get past how deadly they are.
The coppery dragon ambled forward. Not built as heavily as some, it was tall with a graceful set to its long neck. Ysien said, “Zelli, meet Runa.”
