G A Aiken Dragon Bundle

by G. A. Aiken

  “Don’t worry, Rhona,” Edana told her with a small smile, “we’ll handle Mum.”

  Keita watched the big Lightning leave before she faced the dragon she adored—although she still hadn’t told Ragnar that she adored him. It wasn’t good to give a male that sort of information too early in the relationship. And yes! Five years was still too early in the relationship, no matter what her pesky aunts may believe.

  “Why did you insist Vigholf go?” she asked.

  “Because he would have driven me insane until Rhona returned. He won’t admit it, but he keeps an eye on her.”

  “Whatever for?”

  He smiled. She loved that smile. “Because he fancies her and has since the very beginning, I’d wager.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Keita admitted. “She hates him. Calls him the pest. One should never be a pest to a Cadwaladr female. That never works out well.”

  Ragnar pulled Keita against him. “You shouldn’t underestimate my brother. Besides, the more protection you have, the happier I’ll be.” Ragnar placed both claws on either side of her face, gazed deep into her eyes. “Please, Keita. Please . . . don’t be stupid.”

  “Thank you very much,” she said on a laugh.

  “You know what I mean. You are, on your best day, foolhardy. You take dangerous chances. Especially when it comes to ensuring the safety of your kin.”

  “I won’t do anything that will stop me from helping my kin.”

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t tell your brothers?” Keita’s three eldest brothers commanded their own troops with three generals reporting directly to each and the respective number of legions under each prince’s banner. It had been many years since Fearghus, Briec, and Gwenvael had led troops into battle, but they’d done well from the beginning, impressing even the hard-to-impress Northlanders with their skills.

  “If Fearghus and Briec find out, they will leave and take half of Mother’s army with them, and the Cadwaladrs. You can’t afford that right now and my brothers will not be stopped. Not when it comes to this and no matter the protection you think is in place in Garbhán Isle. But Ren and I can handle this without going through all that.”

  “And bringing your cousin?”

  “Merely a formality to ensure our safety. Ren will be working Magicks, and his strength will be diminished. As will his focus. But Rhona will watch out for us like a ferocious demon dog from the underworld.”

  He finally smiled. “I wouldn’t say that to her face.”

  “No, no,” Keita replied with some seriousness. “She’s not like her sisters and mother. She’d not find that a compliment.”

  Chapter 4

  Rhona met Keita and Ren at one of the lower exits. As human, they’d take this tunnel out of the stronghold until they reached a safe distance and could finally fly. But seeing her younger cousin waiting patiently for her had Rhona remembering the last time she’d babysat Princess Keita when the Dragon Queen’s centaur nanny had been away from Devenallt Mountain for a few months. A few months that had been the longest in Rhona’s life. Yet Rhona loved Keita despite that past incident.

  “Cousin!” Keita cheered when she saw her, running over to give Rhona a hug. “It’s been absolutely ages!”

  “I saw you less than an hour ago.”

  “Really?” Keita glanced off. “It felt longer.”

  Rhona’s eyes briefly crossed before she asked, “Are you ready to go, cousin?”

  “Aye. We are.”

  Rhona stepped away from Keita and went to Ren. Her smile warm, she hugged him. “Hello, old friend.”

  “Rhona. Are you ready for all this?”

  “No. But to protect you from Keita, I’ll be there.”

  Ren laughed and Keita pouted.

  “Then let’s get on the road,” Rhona prodded, ready to be traveling.

  Keita quickly sized her up. “You’re being very pushy, cousin.”

  “The quicker this gets done, the quicker I can return to the battle.”

  “And glory?”

  “What else is there for a Cadwaladr?”

  Keita patted Rhona’s shoulder. “You make me sad.”

  Ragnar, also in human form, wrapped his arms around Keita, pulling her into his body. He hugged her tight, whispered something into her ear.

  Although unable to give them complete privacy, Rhona turned away—and faced Vigholf. She frowned, noting he was dressed for travel with his big, human-sized but adjustable warhammer and ax tied to his back, a thin fur cape around his shoulders, and a travel bag over that.

  “Why are you here?” she asked Vigholf.

  “I’ll be coming along.”

  Her eyes narrowed more. So much she could barely see. “Coming along where?”

  “With Keita and Ren, for protection.”

  Rhona slammed the butt of one of her emergency spears into the ground, her hand gripping the shaft tight. “They have me for that. I’m here to protect them.”

  “Of course you are.” And the condescension came through loud and clear. She was surprised he didn’t pat her on the head like a trusted but crippled mutt.

  “New spear?” he asked.

  “No. One of my backups.”

  “Have you thought about moving up to a short sword?”

  “No.”

  “They’re not hard to learn to work with. I could show you while we’re traveling.”

  “I know how to use a short sword. As I’ve explained, I’m trained in all weapons.”

  “But you still use a spear?”

  “I like it.”

  “For field use, I understand. But for this kind of mission . . . shouldn’t you have something a little less . . . cumbersome?”

  Rhona pulled the spear back to demonstrate on his neck how cumbersome her weapon was, but Ragnar stepped between them.

  “Check outside,” he told his brother. “Make sure it’s clear.”

  Vigholf walked off and Ragnar faced her.

  “I know,” he said before she could speak. “I know.”

  “How can two brothers be so bloody different?”

  “Let him do this,” Ragnar pleaded with a smile. “He’ll feel better and—”

  “So will you?”

  He shrugged. “She’s my Keita. Knowing that both you and my brother protect her on this trip will give me nothing but ease. And you’ll find out soon enough why this trip is so important. So for me—and my sanity—do this.”

  Dammit. If it had been anyone else . . . but it was Ragnar. From the beginning he’d impressed Rhona. Fair, smart, and a strong commander, he never questioned whether she or any female could or should fight. He simply assumed if you were in the army you could do your job. He was rare for a Lightning. His brother, however . . .

  “Rhona?” Ragnar pushed.

  She nodded, but with reluctance. “All right. But you’ll owe me, Dragonlord—for putting up with him.”

  “Fair enough.” Ragnar winked and motioned at Keita. “And you’ll protect her?”

  “She’s blood, my lord. I’ll protect her with my life.”

  “Good. Because she is my life.”

  Rhona smiled. “That I know.”

  Vigholf crouched low by the small cave entrance, big enough only for a human. He raised his arm, lifted his hand, and then he heard it. The signal from Meinhard letting him know that it was—as best he could tell—all clear. Vigholf waited another second, then two. When he was sure, he brought his hand down.

  Rhona came out first. Her gaze swept the area. After a moment, she moved quickly and kept low.

  Keita and the Eastlander rushed out behind her, keeping low, keeping quiet. He looked back at the exit one last time, his brother standing there watching them go. They locked gazes, the need for words and good-byes long gone. On this trip anything could happen to Vigholf, and during a war anything could happen to Ragnar. It was the way of the warrior and something they’d accepted long ago. But they wouldn’t dwell on that. Instead, Vigholf nodded at his brother, took one more
look around, but seeing nothing strange or out of place, he followed the others and headed to the Southlands.

  Chapter 5

  Talaith, Daughter of Haldane and Mate of Briec the Arrogant, also known as Briec the Mighty, walked down the stairs to the Great Hall of Garbhán Isle. She was tired. It would be the full moon in a few days and she had much to do before she performed the spells she was planning. For she was one of the Nolwenn witches out of the Desert Lands and for more than sixteen years her powers had been denied her by a bitch goddess she still refused to discuss in polite company. But Talaith had her powers back now and she was ready to truly master them. Not easy, though, when the only other witches who could help her were her most hated enemies. The Ice Lands’ Kyvich.

  The Kyvich were warrior witches out of the nightmarish Ice Land territories. They were known far and wide for many reasons: their incredible skills on the battlefield, their mystical powers as well as their connections to the gods. But what they were really known—and feared—for was that they built up their rank and file by taking newborn-to-toddler-age daughters. From peasant to royalty, it didn’t matter whose daughter it was, nothing stopped the Kyvich once they’d decided a young girl was one of their own. Although they mostly stayed in the Ice Lands and took offspring from there, they’d been seen as far south as the Desert Lands and as far west as the Provinces. Only the Eastlands seemed to have kept them at bay, most likely due to the violent sea that separated continents. And from the time Talaith could walk, she’d been told by the Nolwenn witches who helped raised her that the Kyvich were no more than “murderous, low-level whores who should feel blessed that they’re allowed to breathe the same air as us.”

  Or, as Talaith’s mother so simply put it, Those bitches.

  Yet Talaith could only complain so much about the Kyvich because they were here, in Garbhán Isle for a true and mighty purpose. To protect those who meant more to her than any words could ever hope to adequately describe.

  They were here to protect the children.

  “Good morn, Dagmar.”

  Dagmar Reinholdt, her sister-by-mating and Battle Lord of Dark Plains, glanced up from the letters and missives she received nearly every day. “Morn, sister.”

  Dagmar also came from the north like the Kyvich. The Northlands specifically. She was a mighty warlord’s daughter but had earned the respect of Queen Annwyl by being what Annwyl could not . . . a rational, political force that many feared. Although Annwyl was feared, all she could really do was cut someone’s head off and kill their soldiers.

  Dagmar, when she set her mind to it, could do much worse—and often did.

  “Everything all right?” Talaith asked her.

  “Not sure.”

  “Anything I should be panicking about?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “Excellent.” Talaith sat down at the large table. A servant placed a bowl of hot porridge in front of her and a basket of fresh bread beside it. She picked up a spoon, ready to dig in, but a door opened behind her and she heard that telltale squeal.

  Talaith turned in her chair and opened her arms wide. Her youngest daughter charged into them. Her tiny body slamming into her mother’s, her small arms wrapping around her mother’s neck.

  “There’s my beautiful girl. How are you this morning?”

  “Fine,” Rhianwen said against Talaith’s throat.

  Rhianwen, Rhian for short—unless it was her sister, then it was Rhi—was an impossibly shy and sweet girl. Surprisingly not like her parents at all. Then again, Rhian wasn’t even supposed to exist. For many reasons. Because her father was a dragon, her mother a human, and because as a Nolwenn witch Talaith was only supposed to be able to have one child in her what-should-be eight hundred years or so of existence. And that one child had been her Izzy, who was off risking her life as Annwyl the Bloody’s squire. Izzy was the child Talaith had at sixteen. But then, it seemed, the gods had changed their minds and given Talaith Rhian as well. Her beautiful little Rhian. With the brown skin of her mother’s people and her father’s silver hair and violet eyes, Rhian had unparalleled beauty and thankfully no tail or scales. From what anyone could tell, Talaith’s daughter was completely human—so far. And although strength and battle skills didn’t seem to be Rhian’s future calling, Talaith knew a fellow witch when she saw one. But not just a witch. The girl was unbelievably powerful, clearly blessed by the gods. Magicks swirled around and through her, and with one glance, Rhian could look right into your soul.

  It was a little disconcerting at times. Even for Talaith.

  “Where are your cousins?” Talaith asked her daughter—as always, afraid of the answer when the twins were not right by Rhian’s side. Because Rhian, although younger, had a lovely calming effect on the brother and sister who also should not exist as the offspring of the human Queen Annwyl and Dragon Prince Fearghus. For while Talaith’s dragon-human daughter may be sweet and innocent, Rhian’s dragon-human cousins were definitely neither of those things. And, it was doubtful they ever would be.

  “Playing with the dogs,” Rhian said while tugging on her mother’s long curly hair.

  “Play . . . playing with the dogs?”

  “In the fields. They brought their ax.”

  Dagmar’s head snapped up and the two women looked at each other. They didn’t need to read each other’s mind to know what the other was thinking.

  They were both up, Rhian still in her mother’s arms, and near the back door when Ebba walked in. In each hand she carried a child. The girl, Talwyn, in her right and the boy, Talan, in her left.

  “Got ’em,” the centaur female said, smiling. After five years she still had patience with Annwyl and Fearghus’s offspring, although none of them knew how she managed it.

  “My dogs?” Dagmar demanded. Even with her duties as Battle Lord and Garbhán Isle vassal, Dagmar still managed to breed and train the most amazing but singularly violent battle dogs in the known world. Yet, surprisingly, they were also wonderful pets.

  “Oh, they’re fine,” Ebba said, heading toward the stairs and the children’s bedroom. “The twins were using the ax to chase the cattle, not the dogs. The dogs were simply tagging along.”

  “Somehow,” Dagmar muttered to Talaith, “that doesn’t make me feel better.”

  Talaith understood that.

  “Well,” Talaith said as the leader of the Kyvich legion in residence, Commander Ásta, walked by with two of her warrior witches behind her, “maybe if the Kyvich did their job and actually watched out for the children . . .”

  Ásta stopped. She liked Talaith even less than Talaith liked her. “My job and the job of my coven is to keep your offspring alive. Keeping them from hacking up the cattle . . . that’s your job, Nolwenn.”

  Talaith snarled a little, and Dagmar stepped in front of her, cutting the sight of the tattooed bitch from her. “Stop it.”

  “She annoys.”

  “The world annoys you, Talaith. Stop acting like she’s somehow special.”

  Well . . . the Northland female did have a point.

  “We have to stop,” Keita said from behind them.

  Rhona and Vigholf glanced at each other. They’d only been walking for about four hours. Then again, Keita wasn’t known for exercising anything but her mouth and her conniving ways, so perhaps she did tire easily.

  “If you can’t handle traveling a few miles on foot, Keita—” But Rhona stopped talking when she turned and saw that it was Ren sitting against a tree stump—panting.

  “Ren?” She went to his side and crouched down. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He tried to smile. “Just need a few moments.”

  Rhona looked to her cousin, but Keita was focused on Ren, so Rhona stood, paced over to the Lightning.

  “I don’t remember the foreigner being so weak before,” Vigholf murmured low so only Rhona could hear.

  “That’s because he’s not weak.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  �
��I don’t know.” Rhona faced her cousin. “But perhaps it’s time you tell us, Keita. Tell us what is going on.”

  “Tell them,” Ren said softly. “So they’ll understand.”

  Keita nodded and stood. “Ren is opening a portal. It’s taking a lot out of him.”

  “A portal? Why’s he opening a portal? And,” Rhona went on before Keita could answer, “the gods know he’s opened portals before, so why should this one—”

  “This one will take him and others into the Eastlands. That’s not a short trip, cousin. And normally he’d take weeks to prepare for a casting of this magnitude. But we don’t have that kind of time, so he’s opening one as quickly as he can manage.”

  “He can’t just”—Vigholf shrugged—“open one?”

  “He can, but if it’s not precisely done, it could dump them anywhere. It’s too great a risk.”

  Rhona stepped closer. “Them? Who is he taking with him?”

  Keita looked back at Ren.

  “Tell them everything,” he pushed. “You might as well.”

  Keita nodded and said, “As we speak, several of the Western tribes Annwyl tried to wipe out have teamed together and are riding toward Garbhán Isle. They know Annwyl and most of her army are not there and they want to destroy the castle and kill her offspring for revenge. And the reason we didn’t tell you earlier is because we’re hiding all this from Fearghus and Briec. Because you know what will happen if they find out their offspring are in danger. They’ll rush off with most of the army to protect them and leave the Lightnings and the rest of my mother’s army to fend for themselves. So I decided this was the best idea.” Keita clapped her hands together. “But we’ve got it all covered and we’ve got you two to protect us all the way home . . . so there’s no need to worry!”

  Vigholf watched Rhona closely, ready to catch hold of her before she could grab Keita in a rage. But Rhona merely stared at her cousin until she said, “Yeah, all right.” She sighed a little. “We should get horses then, for when we’re not flying.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Vigholf cut in, shocked Rhona was just accepting what Keita had spewed. “How do you know all this, Keita?”