by G. A. Aiken
So Gaius wasn’t as concerned about bringing his sister to Garbhán Isle as Aggie. Because the one thing he could say about the Mad Queen was that she was loyal to both human and dragon, which meant the queen would make it her business to keep Aggie safe.
There was only one problem with Gaius’s plan. The queen tended to forget who he was. Normally, this was something he’d find insulting—something his sister always found insulting—except that he couldn’t be too upset. Annwyl was an odd woman. Politics bored her. Royal lineage meant little to her. So he didn’t think she forgot him to be insulting or as some cold-blooded political maneuver. She forgot him, it seemed, because her poor, beleaguered brain couldn’t handle much more. And Gaius simply couldn’t hold that against her.
Yet when he looked over at his sister, all Gaius could see was her concern.
No. There’d be no taking her to Garbhán Isle and dropping her off so that he could head to the series of meetings he’d set up through Bram the Merciful. He would need to ease Aggie into this. Thankfully, he did have a little time.
“You know,” he finally suggested, “we could go to Lord Bram’s castle first.” Bram had a wonderful way of easing tensions between all involved. He was a good dragon, something that meant a lot to Gaius and his twin since for most of their existence all they’d known was the treachery of their own kin. “If he’s there, we can travel with him to Garbhán Isle in a day or two.” His sister winced a bit. “Or . . . or we can spend more time at his castle first, if you’d like.”
Aggie nodded. “If that would make you more comfortable, why not?”
They both knew it had nothing to do with Gaius’s comfort, but her pride was a bit brittle these days, so Gaius didn’t mind her blaming little things like this on him.
“Then let’s go.”
They turned their horses and met up with the small unit that he’d hand chosen to ride with them to ensure his sister’s safety. Although they could fly into this territory, there was still a lot of violent history and bad blood between the Southland and Western dragons. It was better to go as human and blend in to the general throng than it was to risk coming snout to snout with angry Southland dragons who’d lost their kin during the early wars between their kind.
Gaius knew from experience that dragons had very long memories.
Chapter Seventeen
It took two days to make it to a forest outside a medium-sized city.
“There is so much unused space in the Southlands,” Elina noted. “Why do these people insist on living in these stone cities and towns . . . unable to move anywhere?”
“Southlanders like permanence. We like to know that when we come home from work, we go to the same place every night. It’s comforting.”
“Comforting?” Elina shook her head. “Such a strange people.”
“You don’t like comfort?”
“It leads to weakness and soft hearts.”
Celyn reached over and patted her head with his big hand. “You make me sad, little human.”
Elina was thinking about stabbing the dragon in his hand so that he’d learn never to do that to her again, but she saw a group of men walking down the road toward them. One of the men led a horse that had a large cart behind it. Elina had no idea what was in that cart because it was covered in cloth. But she did notice the way the men stared at her and the dragon. As if they were waiting for them to do something. Whatever was in that cart was important to them.
As they passed the men, Celyn suddenly slowed his horse to a stop. Elina also stopped and glanced back, watching as the dragon lifted his head and sniffed the air, his entire body growing tense.
Elina rode back to him, circling around his giant travel-cow. “What is it?” she asked softly.
He shook his head and moved on, and Elina fell into place beside him.
Together they passed the city gates and made it down the road another two leagues. That’s when Celyn stopped again and looked around. When he saw nothing, he nodded at Elina and turned his horse toward the woods, urging the oversized beast into a gallop. Elina clicked her tongue against her teeth and her horse followed after Celyn’s.
They headed back toward the city but stayed in the woods, climbing up and up until they reached the opening of a cave buried deep in the forest.
Celyn quickly dismounted and prepared to call out, but Elina leaned over and slapped her hand over his mouth. When he looked at her, she shook her head and sniffed the air.
Since she’d been a young girl, she’d been taught to track two things: animals, because they were food; and men who were not part of their tribes . . . because, as a whole, men could not be trusted.
And Elina smelled men.
Celyn’s heart had raced as they’d made their way up to Costentyn’s cave. He’d scented dragon’s blood on those men. And their clothes had been singed at the edges as if they’d been touched by a dragon’s flame. Since Celyn knew of no other dragons in this region, he feared the worst for his old friend.
And clearly he wasn’t alone in that sinking feeling. With her free hand, Elina pointed at her own nose. She scented something, too.
When she seemed confident that Celyn wouldn’t call out, she pulled her hand away from his mouth and dismounted from her horse. She took the reins of both horses and led them to nearby trees.
With her curved bow and a quiver full of arrows secured to her back, Elina came to his side and nodded. Once. She was ready.
Celyn removed his fur cloak so that nothing would encumber him should he need to fight as human, and together they entered Costentyn’s cave.
As soon as Celyn entered, he became even more worried about his old friend. It didn’t smell right. Nothing smelled right.
Celyn moved deeper into the cave and, as he did, he saw books tossed around, some burned. He remembered, quite clearly, Costentyn and Celyn’s father arguing about how Bram treated his books. Celyn’s father piled those books into the corners of his home. Haphazard with an organizational logic that only Bram and his assistants seemed to understand. Celyn remembered how offended Old Costentyn had been. Books, to him, were to be treated with reverence and placed on shelves in a logical order so that anyone at any time could come in and pick up a book for their reading pleasure. Bram, however, saw books as a means to an end. That end being knowledge.
So finding Costentyn’s books lying around . . .
Celyn rushed forward, determined to find his friend. He used his logic to guide him more than his senses. And logic suggested that Costentyn would try to get to an exit. Any exit that would allow him to fly away.
After several long minutes Celyn stopped running. He bowed his head and curled his hands into fists. After a breath, he took a step forward just as Elina ran up behind him. He walked into the alcove, dropped to his human knees, and carefully placed his hand on the head of his murdered friend.
Elina watched the dragon mourn his friend.
It was obvious this was an old dragon. So old, even his brown scales were mostly grey. She could see bits of brown underneath but it was hard to tell. And, of course, the blood didn’t help.
It hadn’t been a fair fight. Instead, the old dragon had been pinned down by nets that were then tacked to the ground and, while he probably fought his bindings, he was repeatedly stabbed with long spears and hacked at with axes. It must have taken hours for the dragon to die. Hours while the weak men hacked at his hard scales and stabbed at any weak spots he had.
Finally, Elina turned her head in disgust.
This was why men could not rule. What was the point of killing this dragon? He was old. Probably didn’t leave his home much. And based on all the books she saw throughout the cave, she would guess that all he did was read. This was not some great warrior one could defeat with any pride. But Elina knew Southlander men well enough to know they would be crowing about this victory until the end of their time. They would never see the shame in what they’d done.
The dragon suddenly leaned over and picked up two
human-sized, bound books. He flipped one open, nodded.
“Costentyn’s journals,” he said softly, tucking them into his travel bag. “Perhaps they can tell us something.”
Elina heard a sound and turned her head, raising one finger to silence the dragon. Her nostrils flared at the smell of human sweat. When she looked back at Celyn, he was watching her.
“Where?” he demanded.
She wasn’t sure, so she silently made her way down a long corridor, using her nose and female instincts to lead her.
Eventually she found them. In a place that explained everything.
Elina crouched down and picked up a gold coin. It wasn’t the dragon they had wanted. It was the dragon’s hoard. Even now, they were hurriedly taking piles of gold and jewels out through a hole in the cave wall. They were in a line as if trying to take water to a burning building. Buckets of riches being handed off from one male to another while they joked and laughed and bragged about how they’d killed an old being who’d been living his life quiet and alone in his cave.
“Baron Roscommon was right, eh, lads? We’ll be rich, all right, when we get our cut.”
“And imagine all the pussy we’ll get when they find out we slayed a dragon.”
“But Roscommon told the truth. We couldn’t let that dragon live among good people. He was a danger, that one. He had to die.”
“And now them dragons will know not to fuck with us or our city.”
The men cheered at that while they kept working, nothing deterring them from getting their gold.
Elina stood, the gold coin still in her hand, but as she turned to hand it off to Celyn, she realized that he’d silently shifted to his natural form and was now towering over her. He silently stood in that entryway, nearly filling it.
The weight of her quiver and bow rested against her back, and she felt comfort from them. Because she sensed that she would need them. She wouldn’t say that she could read his dragon face. At least not yet. But like most beings of the world, what Celyn’s face wouldn’t tell you, his energy would.
His black gaze was fixed on the humans, who, so busy bragging, had yet to notice them. The dragon nodded his horned head.
Reaching back, Elina placed one hand on the wood of her bow. She held out her other hand with the gold coin sitting in her palm. Slowly, she turned that hand over, so the coin fell from her palm and made a soft plunk sound against all the other gold coins.
There was immediate silence in that cave. All that self-important chatter stopped, human bodies tensing.
Elina was fascinated, but she didn’t wait to see any more. She silently and swiftly eased back and found her way to another exit.
Celyn wasn’t surprised when Elina made her hasty escape. What human wanted to watch what he was about to do?
Celyn? His father’s voice popped into his head after Celyn sent out the call. What’s wrong, son?
It’s Costentyn, Da. He’s been killed by humans.
There was a long pause, but his father was merely thinking. He was not a quick reactor. It was why Celyn had contacted him and not his mother. Before he could even have finished a thought, Ghleanna would have been flying to him in a Cadwaladr rage. Although effective, it was not what Celyn thought was needed right now.
Where are you? his father finally asked.
In Costentyn’s cave. I’ve found some humans here. When I walked in, they were talking about how the baron of the nearby city had sent them here. They are stealing Costentyn’s gold for this baron. And to send a message.
A message? To whom?
Dragons . . . maybe Annwyl.
I see.
This can’t be ignored, Da. I’ll be dealing with them, but—
Yes, yes. I know. I think there are Cadwaladr kin nearby you. I will have them join you. But Celyn . . . and this is important, son, keep control of them as best you can. We don’t need this spreading outside the walls of that city. Understand me?
I do, Da.
Good.
His father was gone, off to handle this in the best way he could. And since Celyn had utter faith in his father, he thought no more about it, instead focusing all his Cadwaladr rage and hate on these men. These worthless human men.
Finally, after the dragonfear had washed through them and the humans were able to move again, one of the men raised his sword and screamed, “Kill it!”
Celyn welcomed them to try. . . .
Miles had just taken another basket filled with gold and jewels when he heard the screams from inside that dragon’s cave. He doubted the dragon had come back. The creature had definitely been dead by the time they’d finished with him. Even after they’d known he was dead, they’d kept stabbing him, kept bashing him . . . just to make sure. Them dragons could be tricky. The baron had said they were evil and the one in the cave needed to be killed. Although, truth be told, that dragon hadn’t put up much of a fight. Not the kind of fight Miles would have expected. But when they’d walked into that cave filled with gold, he’d understood better what the baron had wanted.
Yeah. Sure. The dragon dead of course. Miles didn’t care one way or another about that. But the baron really wanted this gold. He wanted to raise an army, perhaps take on the queen. How people could be okay with that woman ruling their lands when she lay down every night with a dragon—even worse, had its unholy babies—Miles could and would never understand.
But this had nothing to do with any of that. Miles understood that once he saw all that damn gold. For hours now, they’d been working to clean out this cave and yet they weren’t even half done.
A few of the men had already shoved some gold and jewels into their pockets, but Miles wasn’t about to risk that. At least not yet. The baron could be mean when he thought he was being cheated and Miles had no intention of hanging from any gallows for some bloody gold. So he kept moving those buckets along.
Until the first body nearly hit him in the head.
It was Terence, landing hard between the two lines of men. He was still alive, and desperately trying to hold his guts in. A chore with that large hole in his stomach.
They were about to go to him, to help, when they heard more screaming, saw more of their friends and family come flying out of that hole that they’d spent days opening so they wouldn’t have to travel all the way through that big cave with buckets of coin
Black claws gripped the cave opening and a massive head covered in black scales suddenly appeared. Lowering that head, the creature was able to maneuver those bright white horns past the opening, and then it was there.
Big. Black. Covered in scales. And not nearly as old as the one they’d found in the cave. Reading a bloody book, no less, and drinking a giant chalice of wine. Miles remembered thinking, “Well la-de-da,” before they’d rushed it.
Maybe this one was its son or something. But whatever it was, it was bigger, younger, and meaner.
So much meaner.
Old Robert, thank the gods, was the only one not pissing himself from that dragonfear they’d all heard about but that they hadn’t felt when the old dragon had reared itself up. And it was Old Robert who rallied the boys.
“What are you doing?” he bellowed. “Kill it! Kill it now!”
Swords were unsheathed and spears raised.
“Charge!” Old Robert screamed and a group of the lads ran forward as Miles scrambled for his spear.
This dragon, unlike that other one, didn’t panic though. He just lifted his back claw and slammed it down, and the screams of his friends filled Miles’s ears.
Then the dragon opened its maw and flames came flying out. Big, giant flames that burned a group of the lads in seconds, barely giving them time to scream before they were nothing more than ash.
Panicked, terrified, Miles ran behind a big tree. He hid. Like a weak baby. But he was shaking so much, he couldn’t raise a sword or spear if he wanted to.
The baron’s soldiers, a unit left behind to keep an eye on the men—probably to keep them from stealing—s
plit apart and went at the dragon from opposite sides.
They weren’t scared like the rest of them. They were soldiers, after all. Some of them, it was said, had fought with dragons before. So they were ready for this dragon.
What they weren’t ready for, however, were the arrows.
One arrow after another came raining down from the top of that cave. Miles leaned back and took a look. It was a woman. Pale, she was. With long, white-blond hair that pooled around her as she crouched at the top of the cave opening with a curved bow. And, she never missed a shot. Not one. Each arrow she sent out hit one of the baron’s men in the neck or eye or under the arm. Each shot meant to kill . . . and each shot did.
Even the dragon looked surprised—if it were possible for a thing to be surprised—as he glanced back at the woman. He nodded and then focused on the rest of the men. He pulled out the smallest sword. At least small compared to the dragon. But he slammed it against the side of the cave wall and the damn thing grew! Like some kind of evil magicks, it grew! Into a full-sized sword big enough for this dragon. And, with a roar, he began to swing that sword. Cutting the rest of the men into pieces, following up with his flame, stomping on a few for good measure. It was over in seconds.
Bloody seconds.
Slowly, the dragon turned to face the woman. “I thought you’d run to safety,” he said.
“Do not assume,” she said with some strange accent, “that I live in fear, Dolt. I went to higher ground.”
“I see that now. Sorry I questioned you. I should have remembered that you run toward death.”
“I do not run toward. I merely accept that death will come for me. What is point of fighting when death will have its way? And I will not have this argument with you again.”
“Who’s arguing?”
The woman gave a short hiss between her teeth, then asked, “What about him?”
She didn’t point at Miles, but the dragon slowly looked over his shoulder at the tree Miles was standing behind. “. . . I could use a snack.”