G.A. Aiken Dragon Bundle: The Dragon Who Loved Me, What a Dragon Should Know, Last Dragon Standing & How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (8 page)

Read G.A. Aiken Dragon Bundle: The Dragon Who Loved Me, What a Dragon Should Know, Last Dragon Standing & How to Drive a Dragon Crazy Online

Authors: G. A. Aiken

Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Romance, #dragons

Chapter 8
Morfyd the White, Eldest Daughter and Third-Born Offspring of Dragon Queen Rhiannon, Heir to the Queen’s Magicks, and Battle Mage for Queen Annwyl’s Army, tracked down her human mate.
She rode her horse around hurrying troops, cooks, riders, scouts, and all the others that made up a human queen’s army.
“Morfyd?” Her human mate, Brastias, general of Queen Annwyl’s army, pushed his men aside to stand by her. “What is it?”
“We move now for the Euphrasia Valley.”
“So soon? I thought we had a few more—”
“The Sovereigns aren’t pulling back. They’ve moved out. Heading to the Valley.”
Brastias glanced out over what had been their battleground for nearly five years. His laugh was a little bitter. “I’d hoped they’d been running from our relentless onslaught.” He looked up at her. “But they’re off to help the Irons.”
“Aye. They’re already heading there.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“I’ve seen what the gods have shown me.”
“Could the gods be lying?”
“Of course. But we both know they aren’t this time.”
Brastias nodded. “So we follow.”
“Take the Eastern Pass. If I remember the terrain correctly, you’ll be able to cut the Sovereign army in half.”
He nodded, turned to the commanders of Annwyl’s legions. “We move. Now,” he ordered. “Bring only what each man needs. No more.”
“And Annwyl?” one of the commanders asked.
So Brastias wouldn’t have to lie to his men, Morfyd quickly answered, “I go to her now. But everyone is moving at this moment. Understand?”
The commander’s eyes narrowed a bit, but he wasn’t about to challenge Morfyd. Although her reputation was nothing like Annwyl’s—Morfyd simply didn’t have the body count to her name—they still knew Morfyd was a She-dragon not to be trifled with.
The men left to get their legions moving and Brastias wrapped his hand around her ankle, sweetly squeezing it.
“Anything?” he asked, his voice very quiet.
“No. Annwyl and the others are blocked from my sight.”
“Also down to your helpful gods?”
“I really don’t know. The west, past the Aricia Mountains, has always been blocked from my sight and my mother’s. Whether that’s due to the gods or a very powerful witch or mage . . . I do not know.”
“Don’t worry, luv. If there has always been one thing I’ve had faith in, it’s been our mad queen.”
Morfyd leaned down in her saddle and kissed Brastias. When she pulled away, she whispered, “Watch your back, my love. There are always those working against our queen and those loyal to her.”
“Aye,” he answered sadly. “That I do know.”
She left him then, knowing she’d stay behind for a bit. She’d stay behind and wait. Although she had no idea why. And watching Annwyl’s men scramble to head off for more blood and death in battle under Annwyl’s banner, Morfyd realized she no longer had any choice but to do what she’d been resisting since she’d realized Annwyl had gone off with Morfyd’s cousin and niece.
She would now have to contact her mother.
When they were no more than three miles outside of Garbhán Isle, Ren suddenly stopped, bringing the rest of them up short. The Eastlander looked so tired that if Dark Plains had been any farther away, Vigholf would have had to carry him.
“What is it?” Rhona asked Ren.
“They know I’m here. The Kyvich. And they are not pleased.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps they know what I’m doing. I don’t know.”
“You wait here.” Rhona motioned to Vigholf. “Watch them while I let the others know we’re here. The last thing we want is the Kyvich to panic over Ren’s presence and all my cousins need to see is a bloody Lightning about before they—”
Rhona shoved him. A good thing too with that giant, steel spear shooting straight at him. But Rhona’s brown claws caught it in mid-flight, the steel tip inches from Vigholf’s throat. The pair stared at each other.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“You’re welcome,” Rhona replied just before a big fist slammed into the back of Vigholf’s head, shoving him forward.
Rhona flew out of the way when Vigholf was suddenly moving toward her due to that silver-scaled fist to the back of his head. Then another fist, this time black, slammed into the Lightning, forcing Vigholf back. But it wasn’t some enemy dragons who’d followed them to Dark Plains, but her Uncle Addolgar, the Silver—and good gods! Her father!
While both males mercilessly pummeled Vigholf within an inch of his life, Rhona shoved the spear into Keita’s hands, ignoring the royal’s squeal when it nearly dragged her to the ground below, and quickly flew between the battling males.
“Daddy! Addolgar! No!”
Her father stopped immediately, but Addolgar kicked Vigholf in the face, sending the Lightning flipping back in midair.
She cringed, feeling bad for the Northlander. But seeing her father again . . .
Heartless female! He was getting battered by the wench’s kin, and instead of coming to his defense, she was busy hugging some bloody Fire Breather. Where was the loyalty?
The older silver dragon had his broadsword out, aiming it toward Vigholf’s head. Vigholf yanked his hammer off his back, swinging it through the air, mostly to block the sword. But if he happened to hit the dragon’s head in the process . . .
But before Vigholf’s hammer could hit anything, it was caught and held in a strong claw, as was the older dragon’s sword.
“My daughter,” the big black dragon with red-tinged scales told them calmly, “said to stop. So you’ll stop. Even you, Addolgar.”
The Silver snarled and yanked his broadsword away. “Someone should have warned us you were coming here, Northlander. Thought you were a threat. Didn’t realize you were just more Lightning scum.”
“I’m so glad we have that truce with you,” Vigholf muttered, wiping the blood that dripped from his nostrils.
“Uncle Addolgar fought against Northlanders in at least three wars, including against your father,” Rhona explained. “So you shouldn’t take it personally that he sees you all as worthless scum.”
Vigholf stared at the female. “How does that help the situation?” he demanded.
“I’ll escort you back,” the black dragon told them all, his smirk reminding Vigholf of Rhona, “so the Lightning can arrive without being accosted. Poor, weak little thing.”
“Daddy,” Rhona—barely—chastised.
The dragon laughed and, after taking the steel spear from a still-struggling Keita and tossing it back to Rhona, headed toward Garbhán Isle, Keita and Ren beside him. Vigholf caught Rhona’s forearm. “Daddy?”
“Be glad he was here, Lightning. He’s one of the few strong enough to stop my Uncle Addolgar from doing anything.”
Rhona made her way back to the castle, flying over the gates and landing in the courtyard.
The castle grounds weren’t at all like Rhona remembered. Instead of the cheerful place with all the vendors in the courtyard and outside the castle grounds, it had become a military outpost. Siege weapons lined the inside of the walls and someone had begun to build a moat. Only a small portion was finished, but already there was something alive and rather unfriendly looking swimming in the murky water.
No. This wasn’t the place she remembered.
Rhona nodded at cousins, smiled at aunts and uncles, but it was her father she ran to, her father whose arms she threw herself into.
“My girl,” Sulien the Smithy whispered, gripping her tight. “My beautiful, precious girl.”
“Oh, Daddy, I’ve missed you so.”
“And I you.” He stepped back, looked her over, and smiled. “So beautiful.”
She handed over the stainless steel spear that had nearly impaled the Lightning. “Not one of yours,” she noted.
“You know my work.” He leaned in, whispered, “This is shoddy.” He motioned to the emergency spear strapped to her back. “And where’s your spear?”
Rhona glared over at the Lightning who’d landed behind her father. “It’s in pieces,” she complained.
“It was an accident,” Vigholf shot back. “I told you I was sorry.”
“But you didn’t mean it!”
“Don’t worry,” her father soothed. “I have something for you anyway.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Something better.”
Rhona grinned, feeling real excitement. “What? Tell me!”
“Get settled in first. I’m sure you’re here for a reason, so finish all that, then find me at the forge.”
Her father smiled at her, his claw petting her cheek. “Glad you’re back, little one. Will you be staying long?”
“I’ll probably head back tomorrow.”
“Then we’ll make the most of our time today.”
Chapter 9
“We’re heading back tomorrow?” Vigholf asked Rhona once her father was gone. “You don’t think they need us here?”
“Unless my orders change . . .”
“Right, right.” Gods, this woman and her bloody orders. “I just don’t want to leave this place undefended.”
For a brief moment he saw the concern on Rhona’s face, but then one of the Kyvich walked between them, ignoring the much bigger dragons surrounding her. The witch carried the head of some human male. It looked to be a foreigner, but still.... “Jesella,” the witch called out and tossed the head to another witch. “You know what to do with that. Tonight’s a full moon.”
“Where’s the rest of the body? You know I need the fingers and tongue as well!”
Rhona smirked at Vigholf. “I’m heading back tomorrow,” she said, walking off.
He watched her, unable to figure her out. She could be such a babysitter, caring for everyone, and the next a cold, uncaring, “I’m only following orders, sir” soldier.
“Lord Vigholf?”
Vigholf turned his focus to the ground and smiled. “Lady Dagmar.”
Dagmar Reinholdt. The Northland woman his brother Ragnar had taken under his wing, educating her and making her as devious as Ragnar could be. At the time Vigholf didn’t know why. He’d found nothing very interesting about Dagmar Reinholdt with her plain face and small body. But he thought perhaps Ragnar wanted her as a pet. Not for sexual reasons—she was much too young for any of that and Vigholf wouldn’t have allowed it—but for general amusement. Like a puppy or a kitten. Yet Ragnar had paid too much attention to her education, her health, and the inadequacies of her eventual—and worthless—husbands.
Over the last few years, though, Vigholf had come to understand what had drawn his brother to the child and then the woman and why the Northland men—hard, brutal men rarely scared or intimidated by anything—had without humor or irony called her The Beast. Because Dagmar Reinholdt was brilliant. A strategist and politician, she wore reason and logic as her armor, playing her political games with the highest-ranking monarchs and, it was rumored, the gods. Her mind was such a vicious and deadly thing that Vigholf now realized it was better to have Dagmar Reinholdt on their side rather than against it.
“You must be starving, my lord.”
“I am, but I’d like to see my mother first.”
“She’s been staying at Devenallt Mountain with the other Northland dragon females. I’ve sent word, so your mother will be escorted here soon. Until then”—she motioned to the castle—“let’s get you fed.”
Vigholf knew that tone. He heard it from Ragnar all the time. “I don’t have much choice in this, do I, my lady?”
Her smile was small—and cold. “No, my lord. You don’t.”
Naked and in human form by the lake where her kin had made camp, Rhona studied the many scars littering her body. “I’m like a bleedin’ pin cushion,” she muttered.
“Rhona?”
Rhona turned, smiled. “Hello, Talaith.”
“Think we can talk?” her cousin Briec’s beautiful mate asked, and Rhona could hear the concern in the woman’s voice. The stress. Not surprising. Most of them gone for five years, with no visits from her daughter for the entire time and none from Briec after the first two.
Rhona looked down at herself. “Got any clean clothes I can wear? Mine are all a bit stinky at the moment.”
Talaith laughed a little. “Maybe in Annwyl’s closet.”
“That’ll do.” She started to head away from the camp, but Talaith caught her arm, pulled her back.
“Here.” Talaith took off the fur cape she wore and wrapped it around Rhona’s naked body. “At least until we get inside. For the sake of the servants.”
“Such a prude,” Rhona teased.
“I’m worried,” Talaith admitted when they were away from Rhona’s kin but not quite at the castle gates. “I haven’t heard from Briec in several days.”
“You’ve heard from Briec?” Usually only immediate blood relations could contact each other directly and at long distances. Unless, of course, they were . . .
“Witch,” Talaith reminded Rhona. One of those Desert Land witches, mortal enemies of the Kyvich, Rhona had heard. So having the scantily clad, tattooed females around must be especially hard for Talaith. “Learning to contact my mate was one of the easier things I’ve had to relearn since the return of my powers. And with a little more effort and a lot less complaining, Briec could be an amazing mage, so it’s been quite easy. I don’t hear from him every day, but he’s never gone this long. . . .”
“When I left all was well. We’re at a standstill.” Although Rhona was well aware all that could change in a moment. But what was the point of worrying her?
“Can you check with your mum?” Talaith asked.
Rhona stopped walking, tightened the fur around her body. “Uh . . .”
“Uh? Uh what?”
“No one’s supposed to know I’m here.”
“Why the hells not?”
“Keita—”
“Och! That female!” Talaith raised her hand to silence Rhona’s immediate defense of her cousin. “What is she up to now?”
“Maybe you should ask—”
“Forget it.” Talaith caught Rhona’s hand, pulling her along with a surprising amount of strength. Then again, Rhona did often forget that Talaith was once an assassin. A very good one.
With a little snarl, Talaith said, “Let’s find that damn female.”
“How is everything going?” Dagmar asked while Vigholf tucked into a heaping bowl of delicious-smelling beef stew.
“Fine.”
The bowl suddenly disappeared, his spoon dangling in midair.
“You’d get between a dragon and his food?” Vigholf asked, only half seriously.
“When he insists on answering my question like a true Northland male—yes.” She lifted the bowl, holding it in both hands. The scent of it wafted to his nose and Vigholf couldn’t help but growl a little. “But unlike most of my countrymen, you can and do create and execute full and complete sentences. So I ask again . . . how is everything going?”
“I see my brother has taught you very well.” Honestly, during the last five years, Vigholf had been forced to stretch his opinion on what was right for females to be involved in and what was not.
“Yes. Your brother did train me well,” she replied. “And he told me I could trust you as I trust him.”
Those words meant much to Vigholf because his brother would have never said them to Dagmar unless he’d meant it. “You can, my lady.”
“Dagmar. Please.”
“First off, Dagmar, your mate is well. Mean. But well.”
“Mean?” She placed the bowl of food back in front of him. “Are you sure you have the right—”
“Gwenvael the Ruiner, yes?”
She nodded, eyes wide behind those spectacles his brother had made for her many years ago.
“He is quite . . . loyal to you, I’m afraid,” Vigholf explained. “And has been for the last five years. But for someone like him that is not easy. Especially since, like his brothers, he has not returned here for the last three years. He’s turned impatient, mean, and nasty; and he takes it out on the rest of us—and the enemy. The Irons call him Gwenvael the Defiler.”
The woman burst into laughter, something Vigholf never thought he’d hear from the dour little human. She stuttered to a stop. “Sorry. Private joke. And . . . uh . . . why do they call him that?”
“He has a tendency to dismember the bodies. Sometimes while the owner of that body still breathes. I told you . . . he’s become quite mean without you.”
“I see.”
“As to the war itself . . .” Vigholf sighed. “That’s a bit more complicated, I’m afraid.”
Rhona pulled on a sleeveless chain-mail shirt, brown leather leggings, and knee-high black leather boots. Thankfully, Annwyl was close to Rhona’s size. The height of the boots covered up that the leggings were a tad short, and the fact that the human queen had larger tits gave Rhona more room in the shirt for her bigger shoulders.
And while Rhona pulled on the queen’s clothes, the queen’s sisters-by-mating argued like two angry harpies.
“How could you not tell them?” Talaith demanded of Keita. “You should have told Briec and Fearghus.”
“And give Vateria exactly what she wanted? You seem to forget, sister, that I am a Protector of the Throne.”
“Blah, blah, blah!”
“I made the decision to tell my brothers nothing, but I’m here to protect my nieces and nephew myself with the help of Ren. So please . . .
get over it already
!” Keita looked at Rhona in the mirror. “And you should have kept your gods-damn mouth shut.”
“I’m off duty, cousin, which by Cadwaladr law means I
can
beat you ugly.”
Talaith blinked. “There’s Cadwaladr laws?”
“When necessary,” Rhona said, and picked up her sword and the remnants of her beloved spear. “You two argue this out. I’m off to find my father.”
“You’re leaving?” Keita demanded.
Rhona faced her cousin. “You asked me to escort you and Ren here safely. You’re now here safely. What you do from here is up to you.” She walked to the bedroom door. “I’m off at dawn,” she told them and walked out, closing the door behind her.
Talaith watched her mate’s cousin leave the room. “Is she all right?”
“She’s Rhona.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means what it says—she’s Rhona. Now let’s get something to eat. I’m starving for
real
food.”
Talaith locked her gaze back on Keita. “Don’t try to change the subject—Ren’s not taking my daughter anybloody-where.”
Keita pressed her fingers to her temples. “If you’d only listen—”
“No. She and her cousins are perfectly safe here, Keita. I’ll not risk sending them to a country I know nothing about with Ren. Or anyone that’s not me, Briec, or Izzy.”
“But—”
“No. And that’s the end of it. And just so we’re clear, don’t think for a second you’ll get the twins past the Kyvich. I know that coven. They’ll hunt Ren down and rip the scales from his hide. So if I were you, sister, I’d let this go.”
Dagmar and Vigholf walked into the Great Hall from the kitchen. “When are you leaving?” Dagmar asked.
“Tomorrow, I think. I’m traveling with Rhona and if I don’t keep an eye on her, she’ll scurry off without permission.”
Dagmar stopped and looked up at him. Vigholf was as handsome as his brother, but in a different way. Maybe it was the scar across his jaw. Because nothing about him looked as innocent as Ragnar the Cunning. “Keep an eye on her?”
“Someone has to.”
“You do know she’s a—”
“A Cadwaladr.
Yes.
I’m quite aware of her blood ties since everyone keeps reminding me,” he finished on a mutter. Although Dagmar only thought of Vigholf as her friend’s brother, she still felt the need to make it perfectly clear to him how things were with many Southland females.
“I wouldn’t crowd, my lord. I’ve found the females of this clan and this territory hate that.”

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