Full from all the lamb he’d eaten, Vigholf leaned back against his pack.
Rhona held her hands out. “Let me see that.”
Vigholf held up his hammer. “This?”
“ Aye.”
He tossed it to her and she caught it in both hands. “Why would you choose something so heavy and cumbersome?” she asked.
“Heavy? My old one was heavy. This one that your father made? Light as a feather.”
“This is not light, Northlander.” She stood with the hammer, but stumbled a bit.
“Sure you just don’t need some help with that, weak female?”
“I’m fine, thank you very much. It’s just that I knew I shouldn’t have had any of that wine we got in town. But I needed something to silence the screaming in my head over what we’re being forced to do.”
Gods, she was adorable, swinging his warhammer around. Even if she didn’t like the weight, she still handled it well.
“Now a hammer . . .” he told her. “
That’s
a weapon. A weapon for adults anyway.”
“Leave off me spear. It had served me well until
you
destroyed it.”
“It was an accident!”
“Of course it was.”
“I hear sarcasm,” he complained as she stood over him and dropped the hammer on his stomach. “Ow! Evil wench!”
Rhona laughed and sat down next to him. “I’m not nearly as tired as I should be.”
“Good. Then perhaps you can explain Annwyl to me.” And Vigholf adored how wide Rhona’s eyes grew.
“Why not ask me to explain water? The air?” she demanded.
“I don’t understand.”
“You ask me to explain the unexplainable. Annwyl makes sense to no one. A bastard daughter of a monstrous tyrant, she should still be living in the peasant village her father dragged her out of. I mean what monarch wants his bastard daughter around when he already has a proper son as heir? She’s also the sister of an even worse tyrant who sold her off to another tyrant so they could unite kingdoms. She
should
be married to that second tyrant with a few royal heirs to make everyone happy. But she never even reached the wedding and ended up destroying the brother who’d tortured so many.”
“So what does all that mean?”
“It means she’s amazing—and terrifying. Annwyl kills without question, rules with an iron fist, and has little patience for anyone. She can be cruel, she can be loving, she can be heartless, and she can care too much. She is blindingly loyal, but demands the same loyalty from everyone and is devastated when she doesn’t receive it. I can’t explain Annwyl, Vigholf, so I never try.”
“I guess then we’ll leave it at that.”
Appearing relieved, she turned her gaze up to the sky. “Are those clouds?”
Vigholf shrugged, studying every part of her, not caring about the sky or clouds. “No clue.”
She looked at him. “That’s probably because you’re staring at me and not up there—you know . . . where the clouds actually are.”
“I like staring at what I’m staring at.”
“Yeah, right.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. We need to get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”
“All right.”
Rhona got to her feet and went over to her bedroll. By the time she’d settled down, Vigholf was stretched out right beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you my warmth.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“And yet I’m giving it to you because that’s how wonderful I am.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Ssssh. You’ll wake the horses.”
Rhona shook her head and settled down. “You just never give up, do you?”
No. He didn’t. But when Vigholf put his arm around her waist—she didn’t complain either.
Chapter 17
It was the lightning that woke Rhona up the following morning. Not
the
Lightning, but actual lightning. The stuff Vigholf ’s kind was made of, the way she was born of fire. And because of that lightning, she wasn’t exactly surprised to find herself no longer entangled with the Northlander. She’d discovered after their two nights together that Vigholf was one of those dragons who liked to wrap himself around a female like a vine. She’d punched and kicked her way out of several situations like that in the past, but it hadn’t bothered her so much with Vigholf. Perhaps because he wasn’t also a twitcher.
Rhona dragged herself up and ran her fingers through her hair. Thunder rolled from the skies and big bolts of lightning cut across the land. Lightning that seemed to be getting dangerously close.
“Should I even be sitting next to you?” she asked.
“The lightning will pass. Just give it a few minutes.”
She studied the dragon. “You look rather . . . concerned.”
“Not concerned. Tense.” He looked at her. “Have you ever been hit by lightning?”
“Only during battle.”
“Well, we tend to attract lightning, seeing as we’re made of the stuff—and it can sting like hell depending on where it strikes.”
“Interesting. I can walk through fire with absolutely no problems.”
“Don’t brag. It annoys me.”
She relaxed her back against the tree, her shoulder pressed into Vigholf’s.
“Sure you want to get so close?” he asked.
“If I had a problem with it, I would have said something last night.”
His chuckle was low and soft, and Rhona added, “I can handle lightning.” She raised her knees, resting her chin on them, and wrapped her arms around her legs. She peered out over the field. “Besides, I like watching it. The way it skitters and flashes. You never know where it’s going to hit or how big or long it will be. I find it kind of... fascinating. And pretty.”
“Do you find me fascinating and pretty too?”
“No.”
Vigholf’s laugh was louder this time.
“Oh,” Rhona said, wincing.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot about the horses. They’re probably long gone.”
“No, they’re at the foot of the hill over there, where the cave is. They’ll probably stay in there until the lightning passes.”
Rhona looked at him. “I bet it’s warmer in there than it is out here.”
“Probably.”
She stared at him some more until he blinked and said, “Oh! Do you want to go in there?”
“You mean rather than sitting under a tree during a lightning storm? That might make sense.”
He shrugged, gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I didn’t want to wake you up unless I had to.”
“A tree I’m under, destroyed by lightning would have definitely woken me up.”
“You use that tone with your siblings . . . and Éibhear.”
“It’s my ‘don’t be an idiot’ tone.” Rhona got to her feet, picked up her weapons and travel pack. “Come on, Northlander. Let’s see if you can beat what you’re made of.”
Vigholf didn’t beat what he’d been made of. In fact, he was struck at least three times, but thankfully it was mostly on his shoulders and arms. The worst was the head, neck, and ass. A Northland dragon couldn’t help but screech a little when hit in the ass with lightning. Although Vigholf always felt invigorated after getting hit with a few bolts of lightning, the effect often lasting for days.
They ran into the cave, now both of them drenched since the skies decided to open up once they were clear of that tree.
“That was exhilarating, eh?” Rhona asked him.
“No, it wasn’t. It was painful.”
“Don’t be weak, Vigholf.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, and laughing, Rhona stumbled away from him. “Don’t you dare!”
“I was hoping you could show me how to not be weak.”
“You unleash your lightning, and I’m unleashing my flame!”
Vigholf moved toward her, arms out and reaching for her. “I think I’m willing to risk it.”
“Wait, wait.” She held up her hand to stop him. “Where’re the horses?”
Vigholf took a quick look around. “They were right here a few minutes ago.”
“Piss and fire. They made a run for it.”
“I doubt they went back outside.” Vigholf sniffed the air. “That way,” he said, pointing at a passage and walking toward it.
“Wait, Vigholf, I’m not sure we should . . .”
But Vigholf was already moving, going deeper into the cave. Rhona was right behind him, but she seemed a little nervous. He had no idea why. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t think he’d ever seen Rhona the Fearless nervous.
They located the horses about a half mile in. The animals seemed uncomfortable with the thunder exploding around the cave walls, which probably explained why they ended up going farther in rather than running off. Rhona walked up to the pair and, with one hand for each, petted them on their necks.
“It’s all right. The storm will pass. Sssssh.”
Gods, the female really did have a way with horses. Something he found completely fascinating. Especially since he did get the feeling that she had, on more than one occasion, eaten horseflesh. But the animals still seemed to like her.
Then again, Vigholf liked her too.
“They’ll be fine,” she said to him while smiling at the horses. “This bad storm just spooked them a—”
The horses suddenly reared, and Vigholf grabbed Rhona around the waist, yanking her out of the way. Good thing too because the horses bolted, running back the way they’d come.
“What the hells was that?” he asked her.
“I don’t know.” Rhona pulled away from him. “Something scared them and it wasn’t the storm.” She circled around him. “I knew we shouldn’t have come in here. I knew . . .”
She was behind him when her words faded out and Vigholf turned around to find her staring off into another dark passageway. “Rhona?”
“Shit!” Rhona screamed before she shoved him toward the exit. “Run!”
She took off, heading the same direction the horses went, but it slithered out of the darkness, moving faster than anything Vigholf had ever seen, and cut her off.
Rhona fell back, falling on her ass. And it reared up on its tail, leather wings spreading out from its scaled body to block the exit. It hissed, the sound bouncing off the walls.
Its head reared back and Vigholf rushed forward, grabbing Rhona by the neck of her chain-mail shirt and yanking her up. They ran seconds before a stream of green venom hit the ground where Rhona had been, sizzling as it burned into the rock.
Deciding he had to protect the female, Vigholf turned, lightning sparking off him as he began to shift.
“No!” Rhona grabbed his hand and yanked him after her. “Don’t shift.”
“Why the hells not?”
“You’ll never fit!” At first he didn’t know what she was talking about, but as they charged into narrow passageway after narrow passageway, the thing easily slithering behind them, he knew Rhona was right. These caverns and passageways had not been carved out for dragons to stand and fight in, but for them to die, along with anything else unlucky enough to find its way in here.
If Rhona had the time, she’d stop and kick herself. Because she should have been paying attention. If she had, she would have caught that distinct scent or seen the slither marks on the cave’s dirt floor or simply known that they weren’t alone. That like most of these low caves in the west, this wasn’t empty. It had a low-cave wyvern. A gods-damn wyvern! And the ones this far west were the worst of the lot.
Her father said the wyverns resented dragons because dragons could speak, could shift to human, and had arms and legs. Then again, dragons were higher beings. They weren’t snakes that had lived so long their bodies had lengthened enough to wrap themselves around castles several times and had sprouted wings.
But the venom . . . the venom was the worst part of it. No matter the breed of dragon, there were none who could stop the wyvern venom from melting the scales off their bodies. A most unpleasant experience. First it destroyed a dragon’s scales; then the wyvern wrapped itself around the now-defenseless dragon prey and squeezed until the life had been crushed from its bones.
An experience that Rhona had no intention of going through. Not if she could help it.
“We’ll have to fight him,” she told Vigholf as they both suddenly took a tunnel to the right.
“As human?”
“We don’t have a choice.”
They took the next turn into another cavern and split up, Vigholf immediately dashing to the other side of the opening, his back against the cave wall. And Rhona went to the left, crouching behind a boulder.
She grabbed the spear her father gave her and held it in her hand. The tip appeared and it grew to be about three feet, but that was it, waiting until she called on more.
She heard the wyvern slither into the cavern, but she could tell it instantly stopped before going farther in.
Carefully, she peeked around the boulder. The wyvern had reared up, nearly reaching the ceiling even though still part of its body stretched outside the cavern. Its eyes searched the area, scales shimmering in the darkness, thankfully easy enough for Rhona to see. If she were truly human, she’d have been eaten by now after getting lost in the black.
Its gaze finally locked on the boulder Rhona stood behind, the sides of its mouth curling up at the corners.
Rhona had only a moment to think,
Shit
, and then she was diving back behind the boulder, crouching as low as possible. The venom hit the rock and she heard the sizzle, smelled that burning scent of putrid death. Gods, she’d have to make this fast.
She spun around to the other side of the boulder, stepped out, and grabbed one of the throwing axes hanging from her belt. She lifted and threw it. The trajectory was spot-on, flipping end over end across the cavern until it hit the wyvern in the chest—and bounced off, completely ineffectual at this distance.
The wyvern hissed in annoyance and slithered after her. Rhona planted her feet and waited, watching the thing coming right for her.
But behind the wyvern, back by the entrance, Vigholf ran from his spot against the wall, his battle-ax arcing through the air.
Rhona prepared her body, waiting. The ax slammed into the wyvern’s tail, hacking the end off. The high-pitched roar the wyvern unleashed shook the cavern walls, and it pulled up to look, ready to strike Vigholf. That’s when Rhona moved forward, dashing to within feet of the thing. She lifted her spear and it grew from three feet to five feet to six feet, on and on until it was long enough to reach the wyvern’s neck. She rammed the spear forward and buried it between scales and into vulnerable flesh, not only ripping into an artery but blocking the thing’s ability to unleash any more venom. Just as her mum had taught her, years and years ago.
The wyvern tried to turn, its body thrashing wildly, blood spewing from its tail and its throat. Rhona held on, refusing to release the desperate animal even though her human body was weakening faster than she’d like.
“Pull him down!” Vigholf yelled as he charged forward.
It wasn’t easy, but she did as he ordered, stepping back and yanking the beast down with her. When it was still about ten feet from the ground, Vigholf climbed up on its back and up to where its head met its neck. He lifted his warhammer with both hands—the weapon her father made easily tripling in size—and swung. The heavy steel struck the side of the wyvern’s head, something snapping inside. But still it fought. Still it tried to kill or get away or both. So Rhona gripped her spear tighter and twisted it, shoving the tip deeper in. And Vigholf raised his hammer and brought it down again and again directly onto the wyvern’s head, smashing it until the thing finally slumped forward, the only thing keeping it up being Rhona’s spear.
Vigholf stood there a moment, his hammer pressed to the back of the thing’s neck, and his body leaning on it.
“This is not comfortable, Lightning.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He went down the beast’s neck until he could jump off without breaking something important. And as he walked toward Rhona, he heard it coming up from behind him. Hissing.
“Rhona?”
She leaned over, her hands still clutching her spear.
“I think there’s more,” he told her.
She blinked, then quickly examined the one still hanging from her weapon. “Shit and piss . . . I was right.”
“Right about what?”
“This is the baby.” She retracted her weapon and took off running. “You better come on!”
Vigholf bolted after her, ignoring the angry sounds coming from behind him. Rhona raced through caverns and passageways, the only thing leading them both the scent of fresh air. When they finally saw the way out, they hurtled toward the exit together, diving through it and out into the much safer world of rain and painful lightning.