by G. A. Aiken
“What do you mean they haven’t returned with another shipment from that cave?”
“There’s been nothing from them in hours, my lord,” his assistant informed him as he worked hard to get his short legs to catch up with them.
“Captain?” the baron asked just as they reached the end of the hall and were nearing the stairs to the next floor down.
“I’ll send a unit of my men out there, Baron, and have them report back to me immed—”
The captain’s word stopped as soon as they heard the screaming outside.
“What the holy hells?” the baron snarled.
“You two stay here,” the captain ordered. “I’ll—”
The three men quickly moved as the stone wall beside them shook. The captain pulled his sword and stepped in front of them, pushing the baron and his assistant back.
The stone was torn away, the late-afternoon suns briefly blinding them until an enormous scale-covered snout suddenly appeared, the nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. It pulled back a bit so that the baron could now see cold, black eyes staring at him.
“Good day to you, Baron Roscommon.”
“Move!” the captain ordered, before he charged the dragon with his blade.
The baron only had seconds to see the dragon pull back completely from that hole just as the captain was about to make contact. But the captain didn’t have time to change his strategy and he went flying out the opening, falling three stories. His screams of panic brutally cut off when he hit the ground.
“Ooopsie!” the dragon sang out.
Horrified, the baron turned and raced toward the other end of the hall. But a blue-scaled fist rammed through the stained glass, only to be replaced a few seconds later by a blue-scaled dragon head.
“Hello, Baron Roscommon,” a female voice said.
Gods! A She-dragon! He’d always heard they were more terrifying than the males.
The baron, in a panic, shoved his assistant toward the female, ignoring her “Oh! That’s just wrong, you bastard!” and ran down another hallway to another set of stairs.
Panting from the exertion and fear, he rushed down those stairs until he reached the wooden door. He snatched it open and stumbled outside. His people were screaming and running in all directions, yelling warnings of “Dragons! Run! Dragons!” Words he’d never heard in his time except in stories told by his father and grandfather.
Gods, what had he done?
Roscommon went around the corner of his castle and started to run toward an entrance to tunnels that the queen had ordered built so that the city could have sewers. Something she’d apparently learned from the Desert Land people. Those tunnels would allow the baron to escape out of the city.
But just as he reached the entrance, a silver spike landed in front of him, blocking his exit. And he quickly realized that the spike was actually part of a tail.
And from above, he heard a low voice sneer at him, “Going somewhere, m’lord?”
Elina sat in a tree safe from the action in the city but still close enough that she could see and hear most of it.
She understood why the dragons didn’t need to go the route of her people and swoop in like the terrifying horde they were.
Because they were dragons. All they had to do was drop their enormous bodies from the skies, and the terror was on without their doing much of anything.
The funny thing was, these “terrifying” dragons were much more thoughtful than any human Elina had ever met. Although a few had talked about going into the city and wiping everyone out, it was mostly just talk. They had considerately listened to other ideas and, in the end, supported Celyn’s.
Elina had been rather amazed by it all.
Even more fascinating, they’d all decided it was in their best interest to handle all this themselves rather than get Queen Annwyl involved. Apparently her way of dealing with things was also different from the tribal hordes’. She seemed to have no desire to destroy those she considered innocent. But wiping out the entire army protecting the city? It seemed that was something she would be more than willing to do. All by herself.
What really interested Elina the most about all of this was how protective the dragons were, not only of the people, but of Annwyl and her rule. To be honest, Elina had assumed the dragons didn’t take the human queen very seriously. She’d assumed that they tolerated her merely because of her mate. A dragon prince, no less.
Yet it wasn’t like that at all. Whatever Annwyl had done over the years, she’d earned the respect of these dragons. They seemed to love and fear her. At the very least, they feared her wrath.
Gods, what was that like? To have your own fear you?
Glebovicha had made sure that no one feared Elina. She mocked her to any and all, telling them how weak and stupid and useless Elina was.
And thinking about that reminded Elina how hard it would be to get to the Anne Atli. Glebovicha would not want that. She probably would not allow it. But Elina was becoming more and more determined as time went on. She felt, deep in her bones, that it was necessary for her to help the dragons as much as she could.
No. Nothing would stop her. Not even Glebovicha.
Deciding not to think on it any longer, Elina again focused on what was going on inside the city.
Addolgar had the baron by his leg and was carrying him to the city’s gallows. There were no humans out on the streets now. No humans waiting by the gallows to see what would happen to their leader. Instead, they were hiding in their homes or in their gods’ temples. All of them praying that the dragons would just kill their leader and go on their way. None of them seemed ready to fight to protect anything. A desire Elina understood but didn’t exactly respect. What about their honor? Or the honor of their city? Or simply the honor of protecting their leader? Did none of that mean anything to these Southlander people?
Or was it the Southland people as a whole? Maybe it was just the people of this city who had no honor? Or perhaps they’d realized long ago that their baron wasn’t worth fighting for? The remainder of the city guards had not been killed, but none of them came out to help their baron either.
As always, Elina saw many sides to this debate and sadly . . . it was this ability that often got her into the most trouble with her people. Her people loved a good argument but only about silly things. Who made the best beer? Who could drink the most? Who was the best warrior? Who had the prettiest husbands?
Big questions like, “Are all Southlanders truly worthless, decadent, imperialist scum?” were answered one way and one way only: “Yes, they are!”
Celyn and his other cousins were already waiting at the gallows. A few dragons perched on the protective gate that surrounded the city. A gate that Elina’s people would have had no problem taking down.
Elina was impressed by how quickly Celyn’s nearby kin had rallied around him. A call had gone out and so quickly they’d been here, by his side, ready to help him in any way he might need. Elina thought of her own sister, Kachka, and wished she were here by her side. They always worked well together, her sister never pushing Elina to be more than she was.
“Your baron,” Celyn was saying to the people of the city, who were still in hiding, “killed one of our own. Not because he was a danger to all of you, because he wasn’t. The dragon who was killed was old. He liked nothing more than to sit in his cave, drink his favorite wine, and read. But your baron lied to you. He lied when he said that this old dragon was evil. That this old dragon had to be handled. And using that lie, he sent his guards and people from this city out to kill this old dragon and raid what had become his tomb.”
Celyn looked over the empty city, but he knew, as did Elina, that all the people were listening. Cowering and listening. “Now, because of his greed, Baron Roscommon has brought down the wrath of the dragons. Even worse, his betrayal would normally bring the wrath of Annwyl the Bloody. She asks for little from her fellow royals . . . except loyalty. Something Baron Roscommon did not give her. For that,
he will be taken to Garbhán Isle to face his fate. Queen Annwyl will have her final say on Baron Roscommon. The dragon nation will not deny her that. As for the rest of you . . . you will suffer enough. Those who were sent to the dragon’s cave have experienced the old dragon’s fate.” And yes, the people were listening, because Elina could hear the cries of those who called those men family or friend. “That was their punishment, and their loss is yours. Tomorrow morning you may come and retrieve your dead. There will be no further retaliation, but understand our revenge could have been much worse. And, should something like this happen again, it will be.”
Finished with his speech, Celyn nodded at Addolgar and his uncle wrapped his claw around a now-screaming Baron Roscommon. He was ordering his people to kill the dragons. To save him. But no one came forward. No one dared.
Addolgar flew off, with Celyn following behind. The rest of his cousins soon followed, making sure everything was safe before they took to the skies.
Elina was about to climb down from the tree when a black-scaled tail wrapped around her waist and yanked her up.
Suddenly . . . she was flying.
Celyn landed near Costentyn’s cave. His uncle already had the threatening and begging and bloody sobbing baron bound and now, thankfully, gagged. As Celyn had promised, Addolgar and the others would be taking the baron back to Garbhán Isle to face Annwyl. No one envied the man that fate.
“Good work, lad,” Addolgar said when Celyn landed. “That was a nice speech you gave.”
“You sure we shouldn’t kill them all?” Addolgar’s son asked. There was no malice in his voice. No viciousness. Also, not much logic. Unlike his daughters, Addolgar’s sons didn’t have much logic.
“I’m sure,” Celyn insisted. “I’m sure the baron only picked the best men of the city to help in this crime. Trust me, the people will be feeling the loss of those men for quite some time.”
“He’s right,” Addolgar agreed. “We’ve made our point. No need to get nasty this early in the game. It’s always better to escalate only when necessary.” Addolgar faced Celyn. “And you, nephew. Are you coming with us?”
“No. I still have my task.” He raised his tail to show that he had Elina wrapped in it. She hadn’t complained once. “I have to get this one back to the Outerplains.”
“Good, lad. Never forget the job your queen has given you. If you happen to slaughter a few enemies along the way . . . that’s just like extra biscuits at tea time, really.”
“Also, give these journals to my father. They were Costentyn’s. Perhaps they will tell him something useful. Tell him that if he finds anything interesting to let me know.” Celyn handed over the journals he’d found in Costentyn’s cave.
His uncle dropped the journals into his travel bag.
Good-byes were said and Celyn’s kin took to the skies. Once they were gone, he brought his tail around.
“Think our horses are still there?” he asked the woman wrapped in his tail.
“I do not know about your oversized travel-cow, but the Steppes horse will be where I left him.”
“Good.” Celyn started to place her on the ground.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Allowing you to walk.”
“Why? What is wrong with flying?”
“You want to fly back to our horses?” he asked, stunned. The only human he’d ever met who’d seemed to love flying right off had been Izzy. To be honest, that’s how he got close to her. Letting her ride his back whenever he could. But with Elina, he’d merely been attempting to torture her for a bit of fun. It had never occurred to him she’d enjoy it. “They’re not that far away.”
“I am very tired, dragon. It has been long morning. Now you make me walk? Like sheep? Does my well-being mean nothing to you?”
“Why don’t you just say that you like to fly and you want to try it again?”
“I could,” she admitted grudgingly. “But I am more comfortable with yelling at you.”
Celyn shook out his wings, ready to take to the skies again, but first noted, “I swear, She of the Excessively Long Name, it’s like you were born and raised among my kin.”
Chapter Twenty
They rode hard for the rest of the day, stopping only briefly so Celyn’s horse could get water and they could relieve themselves. Other than that, they kept conversation to a minimum and ate while they rode. Something Celyn was sure he now loathed doing.
They finally stopped late after suns-down, when they found a freshwater creek and some wild boar nearby. The pair separated so they could do their own hunting. Elina wanted to test out some of her new arrows while Celyn simply wanted to feed in peace without that look of horror humans often got when they watched dragons eat animals still kicking and screaming.
After washing off the boar’s blood in a lake not too far away, Celyn returned to their camp to find that Elina had already taken down three boars. She’d also skinned them, deboned two, put one on a spit over a fire, and stripped the flesh off the other two so that she could dry them out over the fire during the night. That way they’d have fresh dried meat to take with them the next day.
The human had turned out to be quite the hunter.
“Have you tried working with other weapons?” Celyn asked as he sat down by the fire in human form.
“I have. I sadly have no skill with sword or mace. I can use dagger for close-in work but I do not enjoy killing so much that I want to do close-in work. Besides,” she went on, surprisingly chatty for this time of evening, “I enjoy bow.”
“Because it takes precision, strength, and real skill.”
She nodded as she finished with the last of the meat. Walking over to the creek, she crouched down and washed the blood from her hands. Somehow she’d managed not to get any on her clothes, which impressed Celyn even more than the fact she’d taken down three wild boars in a relatively short amount of time.
With her hands clean, she turned and walked back toward their little camp. That’s when she proceeded to remove the leather jerkin he’d purchased for her and then the cotton shirt underneath.
Celyn didn’t think much of that—until Elina straddled his waist and dropped her pert little ass onto his lap. She still wore her leggings and boots, but the only thing that would be between his hands and her breasts was the material she had binding them.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding much more panicked than he’d like to.
“It has been long day,” she replied nonchalantly. “Much activity. I am tired but not sleepy. I thought we could fuck and then I would have good night’s sleep, making me ready for ride tomorrow.”
“You want to fuck me?”
“You are only one here. I could play with myself, but . . . you are here. And sometimes my hands get tired. I do not want them worn out in case we have more murderers to kill tomorrow.”
“Uh . . . well . . . um . . .”
“Do you not want to fuck me? Is it because I am weak and pathetic?”
“What? No. No! You’re not weak and pathetic. Who keeps telling you these things?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you want to fuck me, then what is problem?”
“Shouldn’t I take you out to a pub for dinner? Or write you poems or something?”
Her lip curled while her brows pulled down into a vicious frown, and yet she still managed to look horrified as well. “Poems?”
“You know. I’m charming. I usually charm females into bed.”
Her eyes crossed. “I do not want any of that. I just want fuck. I am using you.”
Now annoyed, Celyn snapped. “Gee . . . thanks.”
“It is not like you will get nothing from it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is point?”
“My point is a simple one,” he began. “We are traveling together, relying on each other in case things go bad. We really shouldn’t be risking that to . . . what are you doing?”
“I get co
mfortable while you ramble,” she said while removing the bindings on her breasts. “Please. Continue. This fascinates me.”
“Although I can do without your sarcastic tone, I will continue. As I was saying . . .”
Elina stood and removed her boots, her socks. She tossed them aside.
“. . . should we really risk the friendship we are just beginning to build to have a quick romp late at night so that you can get some sleep? Does that really seem like a good plan to you? Or would it be wiser . . .”
She untied the leather laces of her leggings and pushed them down her slim hips. She tossed those aside as well. Then she placed her feet on either side of his hips and slowly—gods, so slowly—lowered herself until she sat naked on his lap again.
Celyn swallowed, which was when he realized he’d stopped talking.
“Go on,” she pushed. “I want to hear more about our budding friendship.”
Clearing his throat, Celyn said, “I just don’t want to end up . . .”
“End up what?” she asked around the two fingers she’d slowly pushed into her mouth.
“Ruining what could be a very good collaborative relationship. Down the road.”
“Uh-huh.”
She pulled her fingers out of her mouth and lowered them down her body while she rose up on her knees.
“Go on,” she ordered.
Celyn licked his now incredibly dry lips. “I guess, I think that we should just wait until . . . until . . .”
“Until what?” she gasped out as her fingers slipped inside her own pussy.
“Until . . . um . . .” He closed his eyes, licked his lips, tried again. “Until we know each other better?”
She slapped her free hand on his shoulder to maintain her balance while she began to slowly ride her fingers. “Is that question?” she panted out. “Or confusion?”
“Both.”
“Do you want to keep talking?”
“I don’t think I can.”