Authors: G. A. Aiken
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons
But Keita knew enough of fighting to know that these two Lightnings were not exactly holding back on their swings. She’d bet gold they had in the beginning. Fighting females was not something any Northlander liked to do—mostly because there was no honor in it—but after five minutes in the ring they’d probably realized Annwyl was not some queen who merely liked to
believe
she could fight, who presented a symbol to her men as something to fight for.
No. Not Annwyl. She was and always would be a fighter. A warrior who led her men into battle and to possible death.
“What’s going on?”
Keita looked up at her eldest brother. “I believe it’s training.”
Fearghus shook his head. “She’ll fight anyone these days.”
“And she’s learned some new moves,” Briec tossed in.
“Wonder who taught her all that?” Gwenvael added, and Keita slammed her foot onto his. “Ow! What was that for?”
Fearghus briefly glared at his brother before focusing back on Annwyl. “She practices every day now. Sometimes nine to ten hours a day.”
And all that work showed. Keita had marveled at Annwyl’s muscles when she’d first seen her, but watching her fight two males much stronger and bigger than she was a mighty sight to behold. Annwyl also seemed to understand she wasn’t as strong as either male so she used her speed and smaller size to her advantage. It was working, too. These two mighty Northland warriors were barely holding their own against this one woman. They were probably confused and a little ashamed by this. They shouldn’t be. Keita’s own kin had accepted that Annwyl was, and would always be as long as she had breath, a dangerous opponent. The Cadwaladr Clan actively refused to fight her and had no shame over that decision.
A shadow covered Keita, and she looked over her shoulder to see Ragnar walk up. Behind him ran an out-of-breath Dagmar.
Did she have to race to the Northlands to retrieve him?
The woman appeared exhausted.
Ragnar pushed between Keita and Fearghus. “Do they not listen to a word I say?” he asked her.
“Apparently not,” Keita replied. “But don’t worry. They can’t kill each other in the training ring. It’s a rule or something.”
“And yet that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Are you going to go in and stop them?”
“They made the decision to travel down this road,” Ragnar explained, “now they must see it through to its end.”
Without looking away from his mate, Fearghus said, “In other words, you’re not about to get in there and risk your own head.”
“Those words work, too, but mine sound much more honorable.”
Inside the ring, Vigholf used his sword to rip the shield from Annwyl’s hand. She stumbled back and stumbled back again. Now she was between Vigholf and Meinhard. Both males moved at the same time, and Annwyl jerked aside at the last moment, forcing both to pull back their weapons before they hacked into each other.
Annwyl took the moment to kick the same leg on Meinhard that she’d broken the day before. The dragon roared in pain, lightning strikes spraying out. Keita ducked, not in the mood to get shocked, but Briec quickly unleashed a spell that brought up a shield, protecting them all.
With Meinhard temporarily taken care of, Annwyl charged into Vigholf’s legs, taking him to the ground. She quickly got to her feet and rose over him, her sword grasped between both hands and raised over his belly.
Moments from bringing that blade down on the dragon—and Vigholf most likely moments from shifting back to his dragon form so he could stomp Annwyl to oblivion—Annwyl glanced over at her audience, back at her prey, then over at them again.
“Izzy?”
Izzy raised her hand, waved.
“Izzy!” Annwyl slammed her sword into the ground by poor Vigholf’s head—forcing the dragon to grit his teeth, most likely to stop himself from screaming like a startled baby—and charged across the training ring. Annwyl leaped over the fence, all of them scrambling back, and right into Izzy’s arms.
“Iseabail!” Annwyl cheered, swinging her niece around. “I’m so happy to see you!”
Gwenvael leaned in and whispered in Keita’s ear, “It’s like a battle of the giant females.”
Before she could laugh, Briec slapped Gwenvael in the back of the head.
“Ow!”
Annwyl put Izzy down, but still held her hands. She took a step back and looked her over. “You’re looking so well. How’s it been going?”
“I’m still in formation,” Izzy whined.
“And you will continue to be until your commanders feel you’re ready for advancement. You want too much too soon.”
“You didn’t expect that to change, did you?” Izzy muttered, making Annwyl laugh.
“No. I didn’t expect that. I also didn’t expect you back this early.”
“Oh, well, I came here to confront my mother about her betrayal.”
“Izzy,” Briec warned.
“Still not talking to you either,” she said without looking at him. “And to bring you this from Ghleanna.”
She dug in to the top of her boot and handed over a piece of leather. Annwyl took it, examined it, and her expression changed almost instantly.
“Where was this found?” she asked, no longer the loving aunt but the demanding queen.
“A small town near the Western Mountains. The town had been attacked by barbarians a few days before. By the time we got word asking for help, it was too late.”
“Any survivors?”
Izzy shook her head. “No. It looked as if they killed everyone. Men, women, even children. If they took any as slaves, we couldn’t tell.”
Annwyl’s hand closed tight around what she held. “I’m glad you’re back, Izzy,” Annwyl said again. “We’ll talk later, yes?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Good.” Annwyl motioned to Fearghus before starting off to the castle. He followed, stopping long enough to kiss Izzy on the cheek and give her a hug.
Before Annwyl disappeared around the corner, she called out, “Oy! Barbarian. Witch. We need you two as well.”
Morfyd, with a nod to the Lightnings, headed off after Annwyl, and Dagmar let out a weighty sigh before limping off after them all.
“I need to get her into better shape,” Gwenvael muttered. “She’s as weak as a kitten.”
“Only physically,” Keita clarified.
Gwenvael chuckled and stepped in front of Izzy, hands on hips. “What?” he demanded of his niece. “You return and show me no love whatsoever?”
“I’m not sure I’m talking to any of you.” Izzy folded her arms over her chest. “In none of the letters I received did any of you tell me about Rhi.”
“Who’s Rhi?”
“Rhianwen,” Keita said. “You idiot.”
Focusing back on his niece, Gwenvael said in confusion, “But I didn’t write you at all. So that should alleviate me of any accusations of being a liar.” When everyone only stared at him, “Well, it should!”
Vigholf ignored the hand held out to him and managed to get to his feet on his own. He did, however, take the jug of water his brother offered.
“You all right?” Only Ragnar asked that question after a fight. But this time, finishing off half the water and handing it to his cousin, Vigholf didn’t think Ragnar’s question was out of order. No, not this time.
“I didn’t know females could fight like that,” he admitted. “Sure she doesn’t have some demon in her?”
“She doesn’t.” And Ragnar would know. “It just seems like she does.”
Vigholf looked up to see two females approaching them. One was a very young dragoness, the other a human female, her skin brown like Lady Talaith. Beautiful like Lady Talaith as well, making him think they were of similar bloodline.
“That was amazing,” the human said. “Do you think you could teach us some of that?”
“Some of what?” he asked, a little amused.
She reached down and picked up his battle ax. He’d used it for a bit with the queen, but she’d gotten it away from him early on. Of course, the queen had only managed to knock it from his hands. When she’d tried to pick it up later, she’d struggled with the weight of it so much, she’d tossed it down and dove for Meinhard’s dropped sword instead. Yet this…
child
hefted it in her hands with what seemed to be ease.
“Teach us how to use battle axes. We haven’t gotten to that yet.”
“Izzy’s still on spears and swords,” the dragoness said. “She’s a bit bored.”
He watched the human swing his favored weapon in short arcs with one hand. “This is nice, isn’t it?” She stopped, blinked up at Ragnar. “Don’t I know you?”
“Uh…”
Princess Keita appeared, popping up, it seemed, out of nowhere. “Excuse us a moment.” She grabbed the human by the collar and pulled her a few feet away.
“What’s going on?” Vigholf asked his brother.
“Nothing.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“Only a little.”
“Ohhhhh.” The human looked over at them, cringed.
Sorry
, she mouthed at Ragnar.
“There’s absolutely nothing subtle about that one, is there?”
Ragnar shook his head. “Not really.”
The princess and the human walked back up to them, and the human held out Vigholf’s ax to him. He took it.
“Nice weapon,” she said.
“Thank you.”
He waited for her to push to learn more about it, but she stood there saying nothing and wiping her hands on her leggings.
“Well,” the princess said, “why don’t we all—” Her head snapped up, and she suddenly blurted, “Shit. Shit!” Then she dove behind Ragnar.
“Should I ask what you’re doing?”
“Avoiding some…uh, people.”
“Male people?” And Vigholf noted how annoyed his brother sounded.
“Don’t get that tone with me, warlord.” Tugging on Ragnar’s shirt, she made him turn a bit so that he continued to block her. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’m going to make a run for it.”
“Where are you going?”
But the princess had already lifted her skirts and took off running, heading toward the main town.
“Oy! Foreigners!” Sneering, all three of them looked at the human male soldiers standing on the other side of the rail, several holding flowers. “Where’s the lovely princess then?” one of them asked. “We just saw her.”
Meinhard, trying to work out the newest pain in his leg, suggested, “I say we kill ’em all.”
“Ooh!” the young She-dragon suggested. “Use the battle ax!”
“Or!” the human cut in, shoving the She-dragon aside and focusing on the soldiers, “You lot can piss off.”
“No one’s talking to you, muscles.”
And the young female lowered her head, raised her eyes, and balled her hands into fists. It was enough.
“All right, all right,” the man said, raising his hands. “No need to get nasty.”
The men walked off, and the girl faced the Lightnings again, smiling. “All talk, that one. But if you have any more problems, you just let me know. I’ll take care of it.”
And Vigholf was torn between laughing and believing she would take care of it. Quite well, as a matter of fact.
“I better track Keita down,” Ragnar finally said, sighing a little.
“Suddenly the princess is your responsibility, brother?”
“Sure there’s nothing you need to tell us, cousin?” Meinhard asked.
“Yes.”
“You lying?”
“Maybe a little.”
He walked off, leaving Vigholf and Meinhard alone with the two young females.
“I’m Branwen,” the young She-dragon said. “This is Izzy. She ain’t blood, but she’s me cousin.”
Too complicated. These Fire Breathers lived lives that were simply too complicated.
“Good for you then,” Vigholf said, hefting his ax onto his shoulder. “Me and Meinhard train every day at dawn,” he told the pair. “And we’ll be training here in this ring as long as we’re at Garbhán Isle. What you do with that information is down to you.”
They headed back to the castle and perhaps some ointments for what Vigholf was sure would be many aches and pains.
Dagmar placed the strip of leather, looking like a piece torn off a sword belt, onto the long table covered with maps and correspondence from the different legion commanders.
“It could have been there for years,” Fearghus said, his gaze straying to his mate. Annwyl stood by the window, her back to them, arms folded over her chest, staring out.
“It appears relatively new,” Dagmar said. Then, with a sigh, she walked over to a small trunk she kept in the room. She kept important correspondence or important but not-often-used maps and items in there. She was the only one with a key; none of the dragons bothered to ask for one since they could tear the trunk open without it. She pulled out the keys she kept around her girdle and unlocked it, removing several items from inside. She placed those on the desk alongside the newest piece. Two were strips of leather, emblems burnt into them, another was part of a necklace, and another was a gold coin. All received from Addolgar in the last few months.
Fearghus and Morfyd moved in closer, taking a look. Fearghus’s cold black gaze lifted to Dagmar’s. “You’re just telling us of this now?”
“There was no reason to alert anyone until I was sure. I have my people out getting as much information as they can, and Ghleanna and Addolgar are on top of the matter.”
“And?”
Dagmar dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk. “There’s still nothing definite. No witnesses. No sight of the Sovereigns before or after the attacks. Nothing.”
“But this?” Morfyd asked, gesturing to the bits Dagmar had collected.
“Evidence it could be, but it’s not exactly damning.”
“We can send more legions into the west to look for them. To find out if it is the Sovereigns, and act accordingly.”
Fearghus, his head down, said, “It’s not the Sovereigns we need to find.”
“Why not?”
“It’s been said,” Dagmar explained, “that the human Sovereign forces are no more than puppets for their dragon masters.”
“The Irons,” Fearghus filled in.
Morfyd shook her head. “Do you really think Thracius would dare move on us?”
“Outright?” Fearghus shrugged. “Doubtful. But to have Thracius’s human attack dog, Counsel Laudaricus and the Sovereign legions, wear away at our troops? Keep us busy, splintering our legions, while we look away from what’s going on—perhaps right in front of us? That I can see, sister.”