Chapter 22
Dagmar followed the captain of the guards to the barracks. As they walked in, the guards and soldiers moved out of her way, none of them speaking to her or each other.
“We found them last night. Just . . . lying there.”
Dagmar studied the soldiers. The morning light streaming in through the windows making it easy to see that their throats had been slit but no other damage had been done. There were no signs that they’d fought back. Perhaps they didn’t have the chance.
“Did you see any signs of Tribesmen inside the castle walls?” Dagmar asked the captain. “Perhaps when they left the bodies. Because this is clearly the work of their assassins.”
“That’s just it, my lady. We don’t think the bodies were left, as you say.”
“One second there was nothing there,” one of the soldiers volunteered. “The next second . . . there they were.”
“They just appeared?”
“Aye, my lady.”
Dagmar raised her hands, palms out, to silence them although none had said anything. “The fact that we have no idea how these bodies got here is irrelevant. All we do know is that assassins were inside castle walls. This cannot happen again.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
“Deal with the bodies first. Quietly and quickly. We can give them a proper burial later.”
“Aye, my lady.”
Dagmar headed to the exit, her dogs by her side. She motioned to the captain to follow. “You won’t discuss any of this,” she told him. “They must all swear to it.”
“Aye, my lady. But why?”
“Not sure yet. Just . . . let’s keep it quiet, eh?”
“Understood. And the assassins?”
“Do a room-to-room search for them. If you find anything, inform me immediately.”
“If we find assassins?”
“Kill them. Then bring their bodies to me. Discreetly.”
“Aye, my lady.”
Dagmar walked back to the castle and inside. The Tribesmen had been quiet today. Something that did not make her feel better.
“Commander Ásta,” Dagmar called out when she saw the Kyvich witch with her troop leaders.
“Lady Dagmar.”
“Is everything all right? Any problems last night?”
“No, my lady.”
“You sure?”
“Did you hear there was a problem?”
“No,” Dagmar lied. “Not at all. Guess I’m just a little nervous about all this.”
The Kyvich smiled at her. “Something tells me, Lady Dagmar, that you don’t get nervous over anything.”
“Of course I do. My whole life is filled with worry.” She pointed toward the gates. “Is there a reason you haven’t followed the Tribesmen out into the woods and finished them there?”
“That’s not our job.”
“Pardon?”
“We’re here to protect the children and only the children. We will not leave them to take on a battle that
your
people should be fighting.”
“So if the Tribesmen get past the gates, wipe us out . . .”
“Not our problem. The children are our concern. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Annoyed, Dagmar headed downstairs to where they kept the children.
“What’s wrong?” Talaith asked as soon as Dagmar sat down at the small table with her.
“Nothing,” Dagmar lied again. “Everything all right here?”
“Fine.”
“No problems last night?”
“No. None at all. Why?” Talaith leaned across the table a bit. “Are you sure everything’s all right, Dagmar?”
“Yes, yes. Everything is fine.”
Talaith sat back. “How’s it going outside?”
“It’s being handled, but it’s clear that Annwyl has made enemies of pretty much every Tribesman from here to the Desert Land borders.”
“So they’re not giving up?”
“No, but we’ll be fine,” she assured Talaith.
“As my guests keep reassuring me.” Talaith looked over at the squad of Kyvich who stood on guard duty inside the room.
“Would you rather be down here alone?”
“Might as well be. They’re not exactly chatty.”
“I don’t mean for your social life, Talaith. I’m talking about the safety of the children. So please, do me a favor and suck up the misery for a little while longer.”
“Oh, fine. Here. Have some tea. It’ll make you feel better.”
While Talaith poured Dagmar some tea, Dagmar watched Ebba search among the children’s bedding.
“Lose something, Ebba?” she asked.
“Can’t find the children’s swords. And you know how they get when they don’t get in their morning training. Cranky doesn’t begin to describe it.” She winked at Dagmar and went back to her search while Talaith complained about the Kyvich. She didn’t complain about anything in particular, just that they existed.
Slowly, Dagmar shifted her focus to the children. The three of them sat cross-legged on the floor in a circle. Rhian drew symbols on parchment and appeared much more worried than usual, her smooth brow pulled down into a very deep frown; Talan played with one of the dogs; and Talwyn read. To everyone’s surprise, Talwyn was an advanced reader like her mother. Very advanced. She could read at least three languages that they knew of. The language of the humans in this region, the language of dragons, and now, according to Ebba, she could read the language of centaurs.
As Dagmar watched her, the seven-year-old girl lifted her head and looked at Dagmar through dirty, unkempt hair, black eyes like her father’s and yet she seemed so much like Annwyl. Especially when the child suddenly smiled at her.
And it was at that moment that Dagmar realized . . . the captain of the guard would never find those assassins alive.
Fearghus watched Ragnar hover over his brother. Briec hadn’t moved since he’d been struck, the healers working on him through the night, but no one had told the rest of them anything and he was beginning to get anxious.
After several minutes, Ragnar came to his side.
“Well?”
“It seems that—”
“I don’t have time for one of your carefully worded replies, Northlander. Just tell me if my brother’s going to live or die.”
“I don’t know. He’s completely unresponsive, barely breathing, and . . .”
“And?”
“His spine’s been split.” Ragnar shook his head. “Neither I nor the healers know how to fix that. Perhaps your mother or Morfyd . . .”
“Will they even know what’s happened to him?”
“No. We’ve been cut off. I can’t contact my brother or Keita or anyone.”
“Neither can I.” Fearghus cleared his throat. “If he survives . . . will he walk?”
“I don’t know. But I do doubt he’ll ever fly again.”
“Thank you,” Fearghus said and walked out of the chamber. He went around the corner and tried to control his breathing. He couldn’t allow the troops—or his kin—to see this.
“Fearghus?”
He looked up at his Aunt Ghleanna.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Nothing’s definite. We keep it quiet for now. Just say he’s recovering.”
“That’s all well and good for everyone else, but I’m asking as your aunt. How’s me Briec?”
He shook his head, working hard to gain control. “It’s bad. Ragnar, the other healers . . . they say there’s nothing they can do.”
“What about your mum?”
“She’s his best bet, but we’ll never get him out of here now.”
“But if we finish the tunnels, strike the next blow . . . the
last
blow.” She gripped his forearm. “Then we can get your brother back to Devenallt Mountain and let your mum heal him. Don’t give up on him, Fearghus. Please.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“I’ll get the ones working on the tunnels to move their collective arses. We’ll get this done.” She pressed her claw to his cheek. “We don’t give up on each other in this Clan, boy. Don’t you forget that.”
“I won’t.”
She nodded and stomped off, ordering recruits to get to the tunnel, while all around them the cave walls shook from the never-ending siege from the Irons battering them mercilessly, giving them no way to get out—to get his brother out of here and someplace safe.
Yet Fearghus knew his aunt was right. They didn’t give up on each other, and he wouldn’t start now.
Chapter 23
After a quick but lusty morning romp, Rhona and Vigholf bathed in the river, dressed, and were riding toward the Western Mountain Pass by the time most people were sitting down for their first meal.
They rode hard and made good time, stopping at a few small towns along the way so Vigholf could do what he did so well: get information from complete strangers. Rhona would have to admit, she was impressed. She simply didn’t have an easy way like that with people she didn’t know. And those she did know, she wasn’t above threatening to get information. Vigholf never had to do that. She couldn’t explain it; he just . . . had a way.
Yet Rhona wasn’t completely useless, able to follow the queen’s tracks once they got into the Karpos Forests that surrounded the Western Mountains. Then again it wasn’t hard to differentiate Annwyl’s tracks from the many others that ran into and around the area. The woman had
such
big feet for a human female....
They rode the horses deep into the forests, Rhona keeping an eye out for any new markings that would show a change in direction. She was just pulling to a stop to get a closer look at something near a tree when Vigholf murmured, “Smoke.”
“What?”
“Smoke.” He pointed. “Over there.”
Rhona scented the air. Aye, there was smoke—and fire.
She turned her horse and rode in that direction, Vigholf beside her. As they moved along, they could see the stillburning remains of a small village. Before they got too close, she dismounted and left the mare. Unlike Rhona and, to a lesser degree, Vigholf, the horses weren’t immune to flame.
As she neared the village, Rhona could hear the wailing and cries of those who’d survived the fire that had gutted their homes. Worried it was the work of a pissy dragon, Rhona walked up to the first human she found not completely lost in grief.
“What happened here?” she asked.
The man looked up at her, his eyes red from the smoke and his own tears. “Soldiers. From the Provinces.”
“They just burned your village? Why?”
And it was his next words that stopped her heart. “Because of the woman.”
“The woman? What woman?”
The man blinked, let out a breath. He looked so exhausted. “The traveler. She came with two other females.”
“She fought the soldiers?” Vigholf asked.
“Nah. She went with them willingly. Alone. I don’t know about them other two. They weren’t with her.” He swallowed, wiped at his brow. “She didn’t fight, yeah? Until the soldiers started burning the place. Then she fought, trying to stop them. That’s when they hit her. Hard. Knocked her out.” His voice caught. “That’s when they set the entire place to burn. My wife . . .” He shook his head. “Guess I should be grateful, though.”
“Grateful?”
“Rumor was they’d burned some other villages the past few days, but not before they . . . to the women . . .” He shook his head and blindly walked off.
“We need to go,” Rhona said.
Vigholf looked around and, if these humans weren’t already in a state of shock, they’d have been terrified by the expression he wore. “But these people, Rhona . . .”
“I know. But there’s nothing we can do for them now. And Annwyl’s alone with those soldiers. We have to move.”
“Right. You’re right.” Vigholf took a step, then stopped. “They were looking for her. They knew she was coming.”
Rhona headed back to the horses. “We have to move.”
It was easy enough to track the soldiers. They were headed back to the Provinces and moving at a nice clip until late in the evening when they finally stopped for the night.
Vigholf crouched beside Rhona on a hill overlooking the campsite. Together they watched as the soldiers dragged Annwyl from a cage. When they started kicking and punching her, Vigholf had to catch Rhona and hold her.
“Not yet,” he told her.
“We can shift.”
“You don’t think they know how to fight us? That Thracius didn’t give his human soldiers enough insight to bring a couple of us down during battle? We wait.”
A Sovereign picked Annwyl up by her throat. Based on the elaborateness of his armor and the horse-hair crest on his helm, he was the commanding officer. Motioning to at least twenty of his men, he walked to the only tent that had been set up, dragging a barely conscious Annwyl with him. The men, laughing, followed.
“Now do we move?” Rhona asked.
“Now we move.”
They began down the hill, staying low, using the tall grass to shield them. They’d stay human to start and only shift if they deemed it necessary.
But, as they moved, a crow sounded behind them and Rhona instantly stopped.
“What?” Vigholf whispered. “What is it?”
Taking a breath, Rhona let out a similar crow caw and there was an answering response. With a nod, Rhona kept low but ran to her right and slightly up until they spotted a large tree. They went around it and Rhona instantly wrapped her arms around the young She-dragon standing behind it.
“Branwen.”
“Cousin Rhona?” Branwen whispered. “What the hells are you doing here?”
“Come to get you and your wayward queen. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”
“Hello, Vigholf.”
Vigholf smiled at the human girl who spoke to him. She’d matured a bit since Vigholf had last seen her. Grown into a right little cutie. But a cutie that could tear a head off with her bare hands based on the size of her. “Izzy. In trouble again, I see.”
“Only a bit.” She nodded and smiled at Rhona. “Hello, Rhona.”
“Iseabail,” Rhona said coldly, turning from her. “You two stay here. We’ll take care of the—”
“We have our orders,” Izzy said. “You can come with us or you can stay here and watch. But we’re moving.” She nodded at Branwen. “And we’re moving now.”
Rhona glared at the pair as they quickly and quietly headed off down the hill. “Damn brats.”
“Damn
soldiers
,” he reminded her. “We follow?”
“It’s not like we have any choice,” Rhona said, pulling out her spear and letting it expand until it was the size she wanted it. “Now let’s go kill some murdering bastards.”
Rhona watched her cousin and Iseabail attack first. Brannie seemed to favor the old standard—a sword and a shield. Iseabail, however, used an ax and a short sword. Together, the pair ran into the soldiers cooking their food over pit fires. The first men they encountered barely had time to call to their comrades before they were cut down by the young females.
Yet the next wave of soldiers had time to pull their weapons and attack, but the four of them ripped through the entire battalion without much effort. It would have been more of a challenge if Rhona and Vigholf had been alone or if Branwen and Iseabail hadn’t been as well trained. But they had been, hacking and slashing their way through the troops, all of them quickly making their way to the tent Annwyl had been pulled into.
Rhona cleared her way through the soldiers first, giving her a straight run at the tent. She didn’t want her cousin to see . . . Anyway, she thought someone from inside would have heard the screams and been out here to see what was going on by now. But perhaps they were too focused on what they were doing to Annwyl.
Disgusted more than she could say, Rhona charged the tent, but she stumbled back when the tent flap was yanked open. She raised her shield and spear, ready to strike, but it was Annwyl standing in that tent flap. It was Annwyl who was covered in blood and was dragging the moaning commander by the neck of his breastplate.
The queen stopped right outside the tent, eyes blinking slowly. “Rhona?”
“Annwyl?” Rhona looked her over. “Are you all right?”
“Nose is broken,” she muttered. Then she walked off with the commander.
Vigholf stood by Rhona now, the pair staring after Annwyl before looking at each other. Without a word spoken, they entered the tent, but didn’t get any farther than a few inches past the flap.
“Gods, Vigholf.”
“All of them,” he murmured in awe. “She’s killed all of them.”
Not just killed either. More like decimated. She must have gotten someone’s sword or ax, because there were pieces of the soldiers
everywhere
. Heads, arms, legs . . . penises. Those pieces, along with all the blood, filled the entire floor and walls of the tent.
Rhona walked back outside and watched Annwyl shove the Sovereign commander against the cage they’d kept her in. Iseabail tied the commander’s arms to the bars and Branwen handed Annwyl one of her two swords.
Wondering what the hells was going on, Rhona headed over to the three females.
Annwyl crouched down before the commander. She stared at him a moment, then broke out in a bright smile. “That was fun, eh?” She poked him in the chest with her fist. Not hard, but based on his reaction Rhona was guessing there were some ribs broken there.
“Now,” Annwyl began, “tell me how you knew I was here.”
“You were seen,” the commander said through blood and broken teeth.
“Now, now. Don’t lie. I am so very good at spotting liars. So don’t lie to me. How did you know I was here? That I was coming?”
“You were seen,” the commander said again, glaring at her through the eye not swollen shut.
Annwyl let out a sigh, stood, and slashed her sword. It moved so quickly, Rhona barely saw it, but she heard the screaming of the commander, saw blood pouring from where Annwyl had hacked off the fingers of his left hand. She crouched in front of him again.
“Let’s try this again. How did you know I was coming? That I was here?”
Panting, gritting his teeth against the pain, “Got a message from Lady Vateria’s mage.”
“She has her own personal mage? How nice. And what’s his name?”
When he didn’t answer, Annwyl began to stand.
“Junius,” the commander said quickly. “Lord Junius.”
Annwyl returned to her position in front of the Sovereign. “And how did he know?”
The commander shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“No. You probably don’t.” She reached over to him with her free hand and wiped a splatter of blood away from his jaw. Kind of ludicrous since he was covered in the stuff. His own and that of his men. “But I bet you know where I can find someone else.” She briefly pursed her lips. “Someone important.” She patted his chest. “Tell me where to find Gaius Lucius Domitus.”
This time the commander didn’t bother lying; he simply shook his head. “Never. I am a soldier of the Sovereign Provinces and I’ll never—”
Annwyl hacked off the commander’s arm at the elbow, ignoring the blood that splattered across her face. “Branwen,” she murmured. And Rhona, becoming more horrified by the second, watched as her cousin unleashed a small stream of flame that cauterized the wound and stopped the bleeding.
Crouching in front of him again, Annwyl calmly asked, “Where can I find Gaius Lucius Domitus?”
The strength of will of this one human commander showed why the Irons and Sovereigns were not easily killed. The leader shook his head. “I’ll tell you nothing, whore.”
Rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, Annwyl said, “I can hurt you . . . for
hours
. Just like you were planning to do to me tonight. So, let’s not pretend you have any real choice in the matter. Tell me where to find Gaius Lucius Domitus. And tell me right now.”
“No.”
Without raising her voice, Annwyl said, “Izzy.”
And Iseabail the Dangerous, Daughter of Talaith and Briec, used her battle-ax to hack off the commander’s leg just below his knee, and Branwen quickly followed that up with a blast of flame.
The commander’s screams echoed out in the night and Rhona stepped forward, about to demand Annwyl stop this, but Vigholf caught her arm, shook his head. She didn’t know if he stopped her because he was all right with all this—or afraid of what Annwyl would do about the interruption.
“Where can I find Gaius Lucius Domitus?” And this time, the crazed bitch almost sang that question.
Shaking, the commander said, “He lives outside the Provinces. In the Septima Mountains. But he’ll be no more welcoming to you than Vateria. He’ll kill you, whore, and your friends.”
“That is so considerate,” Annwyl mocked. “Warning me of impending doom after I’ve done nothing but cut pieces off you. When you think about it, it’s
very
considerate. I’m sure it’s not that you just don’t want me to find him because he’s a real threat to your overlord and his bitch daughter. I’m sure that’s not it at all. But thank you for not lying. I appreciate that.”
Annwyl stood, re-sheathed her sword, and took her other sword from Branwen. She stepped away and came toward Rhona and Vigholf, while behind the queen, Izzy finished the commander off, using her ax to remove his head.
Once Annwyl reached Rhona, she tossed her swords at her. Rhona jumped a little but managed to catch the weapons just the same.