by G. A. Aiken
Nesta looked down, her pain evident. “We lost Austell, Rhona. They had stakes built under the tunnel and when it went—”
Rhona raised her claw, cutting her off. “Austell’s dead? Where are Éibhear and Celyn?” Austell was never far from those two. So if he was in those tunnels, chances were high that so were her stupid, stupid cousins.
“Fighting the Irons coming through the tunnel.”
“But they’ll send their Elites that way. Those two can’t handle—”
“Celyn went back for Éibhear,” Edana explained. “Éibhear wouldn’t leave. He’s angry, Rhona.”
And the triplets said together, “Very, very angry.”
“I think he blames himself,” Nesta said softly. “For Austell.”
“I don’t know about now,” Edana went on, “but for a while, Éibhear was the only thing keeping the Irons back until Gwenvael and Briec showed up with their troops.”
Breena nodded and said, “Meinhard’s there too.”
“So what do you want us to do, sister?” Edana asked.
“I need you to get the word out. We’ve got the Rebel King here, helping us defeat Thracius.”
“Who?”
“I’ll explain later. He and his troops are Irons and Sovereigns too, but they’re no friends of the overlord. The dragons wear their hair long and the humans are in black and silver, not the red and gold our enemies wear. I need you to get the word out to all the commanders. All of them.” She sighed a little. “Especially Mum. They have to know Gaius and his troops are part of the alliance. They’re not to be purposely harmed by us. Especially Gaius. He may be the only one who can kill Thracius. Now go tell everyone.”
Once her sisters were gone, Rhona dropped down beside Annwyl.
“Annwyl! Are you all right?”
The monarch pulled her sword out of another corpse. “I’m fine. Feel great! How are we doing?”
“I don’t know yet. It was a trap, Annwyl. The Irons came up through the tunnels. I want to go and check in with the troops still inside.”
“Go. I’m fine.” She grinned and motioned to her army riding in from the pass. “My troops are here. And look, Morfyd’s arrived.” She waved her swords to get Morfyd’s attention, forcing Rhona to lean far back so she wasn’t hit with the damn things.
“Morfyd!” the queen screamed out. “Oy! Morfyd!” When Morfyd was heading toward them, Annwyl waved Rhona away. “Help the others. I’m fine.”
Rhona nodded and was about to lift off when Annwyl said, “Oh! And by the way. The triplets were great. You taught them well.”
Surprised, Rhona stuttered, “Oh, uh . . . thank—”
“Go. Let me finish here, then I’ll see if my troops can help Gaius.”
“Thanks, Annwyl.”
“No.” And, for a brief second, Rhona saw the real Annwyl. The sane one who loved her offspring and mate and adored her people, was willing to die for them. More than once. “Thank you. For everything.” Then that crazed smile returned, and Annwyl said, “Now go. I’ve got so many heads to take before the day is over.”
Morfyd slid to a stop in front of them after dragging her claws through a few of the Sovereign troops.
“Morfyd!” Annwyl cheerfully greeted her Battle Mage.
“You cow!” Morfyd snarled in return.
Annwyl gasped. “What are you yelling at me for? What did I do?”
“What did you do? You left! That’s what you did, you impossible female! With no word to me! To Brastias! And you took my ridiculously impressionable niece and young cousin with you!”
“Don’t you dare yell at me, Princess! I’m queen. I rule! And if I want to go off on a suicide mission with or without your niece and cousin, I can! Because I’m queen!”
“You are the most foolish, insufferable, intolerable female I’ve ever known!”
“And you’re a whiny royal! There! I said it! Now everyone will know the truth!”
Not about to get in the middle of this, Rhona unfurled her wings and took to the skies, heading toward the caves and whatever nightmare awaited her there.
Chapter 34
Word quickly spread among the Southland and Northland troops that the Irons with the long hair and black sashes over their breastplates, were in fact Rebel troops. Vigholf would have to say he was impressed, too, by the way they fought. The Rebels were brutal and merciless to what was once their own. But that could be because they and those they loved had been treated so heartlessly.
Yet none of them had been able to get near Thracius. And, with a glance, Vigholf could see that it was driving the young king mad to see his uncle so close but still out of reach. Gaius must long to get his claws around the male’s throat and squeeze the life from him after what he allowed his daughter to do to Gaius’s sister. The king kept trying, though, flying up and over the fighting masses. But each time he was taken down by the Iron troops before he could get close enough. The Irons hadn’t managed to kill the young dragon—although they continued to try—but they were successfully halting his efforts to reach their overlord.
Ragnar caught Vigholf’s arm, pulled him in close. “I pulled Meinhard’s troops from the tunnels. They’re coming in from the right. Take your troops and circle around to the left. Fearghus and I will push the Irons back. Understand?”
He did. It would be like catching a rat in a pincer and squeezing.
Vigholf let out a low whistle, and without making a fuss, he and his troops moved into position.
Rhona flew into the mountain cave they’d called home for the last five years. A home now filled with the bodies of comrades and enemies.
Snarling, pissed at herself for not realizing what the Irons had been planning all along, she headed toward the tunnel, pushing and impaling her way through the battling troops. She came around a corner but quickly brought up her shield, a broadsword slamming into it seconds before it would have cleaved her head open.
“Rhona?”
Rhona lowered her shield. “Mum.”
She expected her mother to rail at her about sneaking up on her rather than just apologizing for nearly killing her eldest. But, instead, Bradana the Mutilator pushed Rhona’s shield aside and . . . uh . . . she hugged her.
“Mum?”
“Your sisters kept lying to me and then when they finally told me what they knew . . . and I just heard you’d been with Annwyl. Gods, girl, we could have lost you forever!”
“I’m fine, Mum. Really.” And, because she was just in that kind of mood, Rhona added, “And I’m in love!”
Her mother tensed. “In love? With Annwyl?” Her mother shrugged. “Well, you know, I’ve always thought . . . it doesn’t matter. The thing is she’s with Fearghus.”
“No, Mum.” And Rhona fought her desire to slap her own mother in the head. “Vigholf.”
Bradana stepped away from her. “Vigholf? That . . . that . . .” An Iron tried to run past Bradana from behind, but Rhona’s mother turned, hacked the Iron into two pieces, yanked her broadsword out, and again faced her daughter, sneering, “That Lightning?”
“Aye.” Rhona patted her mother’s cheek with the tips of her talons. “That Lightning. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to help the others.”
“Don’t you fly away from me, little girl!”
“It’ll have to wait, Mum! Killing to do!”
Rhona flew through several caverns, striking at Irons where she could. When she reached the cavern where the tunnel was, she saw Celyn and flew to his side.
“Celyn!”
“Rhona!” He slammed his shield into the face of the one he fought, knocking the Iron out. “Thank the gods you’re here. It’s Éibhear.”
“Where is he?”
“Still in the tunnel.”
“You left him there?”
“He wouldn’t leave.” He ran back to the tunnel entrance, Rhona behind him.
They both stopped right outside the entrance, Rhona taking in the sight of all those Irons. Well . . . their corpses anyway
. Elites that had been smashed and sliced and basically turned into mangled messes their own mothers wouldn’t recognize—but that her mother would be proud of.
“See?” Celyn asked.
“Éibhear did this?”
“Just look.”
She stepped over or around the bodies and looked into the tunnel. Éibhear was still at it, hovering over the collapsed tunnel floor and the rows of spikes beneath, while he used someone’s warhammer and a bare claw to kill, well . . . everyone.
“He blames himself for Austell,” Celyn explained behind her. “But, if anything, it was both of us.”
“Don’t worry about that now. Watch my back, I’ll talk to him.”
“I’m right behind you.”
Rhona flew into the tunnel, her wings keeping her hovering over the collapsed floor. She could see Austell’s body and her heart ached for her cousins. There was no pain like the first time one lost a comrade. And, even worse, she knew Éibhear well enough to know that he’d put the blame for his friend’s death right on his own shoulders. If there was time, she’d sit down with him, talk to him. She’d make him understand that in war, they all had to watch out for each other, but there was always the risk comrades would be lost no matter what. That’s what she would tell him, if she had the bloody time—but she didn’t.
“Éibhear? Éibhear!”
The Blue, busy crushing the snout he had in his claw, slowly turned to face her. When the Iron he held stopped moving, Éibhear released him, letting the body fall. Rhona flew a little closer and that’s when she saw the full number of Irons that hadn’t made it past Éibhear to fight the rest of the troops outside this cave. And that number was . . . impressive.
“You were right, you know,” he said to her and Rhona could see how much he really hurt. “You warned me and I didn’t listen. Now my friend is dead.”
“Éibhear, stop. You didn’t kill Austell.”
“Of course I did. I wouldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop and now he’s dead and it’s my fault.”
“Éibhear, it’s not your fault. It’s not Celyn’s fault.”
“It is. It’s my fault.”
“Éibhear, stop this. Right now. Look, if you just want someone to blame, then blame Thracius.”
Éibhear blinked, studied her. “Thracius?”
“Aye. If it wasn’t for him, none of us would have been here in the first place. But we can’t run around looking for who to blame, we need to—Éibhear, no ! ”
Rhona watched as her cousin began to use the warhammer on the cave wall, battering it with big sweeping hits. Celyn flew next to her, but she caught him before he could make any attempts to stop Éibhear.
After several hits Éibhear flew back, unleashed his flame, and charged forward—and straight out a millennium-old cave wall that had withstood everything but the rage of a Cadwaladr male. Because, at the moment, that’s exactly what Éibhear was.
Vigholf and his troops were closing in around the Irons from one side, while Meinhard was closing in from the other. Fearghus, Ragnar, and Gaius were pushing them back from the center. And although this battle was turning, it would still be a challenge to get to Thracius. He was surrounded by a mighty legion of Elites and it wasn’t like he couldn’t fly away if he wanted to. They would give chase, of course, but that didn’t mean they’d catch him.
But none of that mattered. Right now it was about stopping the overlord here and now.
They kept moving forward, fighting off the Irons, pushing them back. They were near Thracius, and Vigholf could see that Gaius was readying his attack. Yet Thracius motioned to his guards, ready to move to a new location or run completely, his wings unfurling.
But that’s when Vigholf saw her. The young She-dragon casually easing her way into the midst of Thracius’s protective guard. She wore no armor. Had no weapons. And was female. She’d gone out of her way not to be seen as a threat. And it seemed to have worked. No one noticed her at all—until she suddenly made a mad dash and threw herself at Thracius’s back, her black-scaled forearms reaching around his neck.
“Good gods,” Vigholf whispered. Then he yelled out, “Branwen! No!” But Thracius merely grabbed the She-dragon and tossed her off him. She went flipping head over tail into the other soldiers. And Fearghus ordered his troops to move in to help his young and very foolish cousin.
Vigholf motioned to his troops to move in as well when he realized that what Brannie did was nothing but a distraction. Because the real problem for Thracius—who was busy ordering his soldiers to “kill the insolent whelp!” he’d just tossed aside—was still on his back. A brown-skinned woman raising some dragon’s large and extremely cumbersome battle-ax above her head and bringing it down where Thracius’s wing met his spine. Blood spurted from the overlord’s wound and he roared in pain. But, he was also unable to fly away. Now he was trapped.
Vigholf raised his shield, about to give the next command to strike the overlord now, while he was at his weakest point, when they all heard the explosion. Rock and debris flew out and over them from a cave wall; fire burst from the opening. Vigholf briefly thought that the Irons had set up more explosions within their cave and that the Hesiod Mountains would meet the same fate as the Polycarp Mountains. But there was something rushing at them from that cave opening. Something that broke free of ancient and mighty cave walls and was moving fast.
“Vigholf!”
He heard Rhona’s voice and looked to the newly created opening she was flying through. “Stop him! Stop him!”
Vigholf looked back and that’s when he realized what that something was. It was Éibhear. And Vigholf knew from experience—there’d be no stopping him.
But Izzy . . .
“Iseabail!” Vigholf screamed out. “Iseabail! Move!”
Whether she heard him or not, Vigholf didn’t know, but she dropped the ax, bolted up the raging dragon’s back, over his head, and dived off his snout and onto the back of another dragon before sliding off and disappearing into the battling crowd.
Thracius looked moments from going after her, but he heard the roar—they all did—and turned in time to see Éibhear the Blue ram into him, the pair tumbling off the hill Thracius had stood upon and right into the heat of battle.
Vigholf flew up and he saw the pair fighting on the ground. Rhona sped toward them, Celyn behind her, but Vigholf caught her and held her. Celyn automatically stopped beside them, and they watched as Éibhear got the overlord onto his back. First he struck him, several times, with the warhammer he held. But he got bored with that and tossed it away, taking the sword Thracius had barely managed to brandish and slamming it into the overlord’s skull. He pulled the sword out and rammed it in again. Then again. Then a few, oh, dozen times.
And they all stood or hovered there. They all watched. Northlander, Southlander, Sovereign, Rebel—they all watched.
After some time Éibhear tore the head from the overlord’s neck, lifted both the head and body high into the air, roared in rage, and tossed them in separate directions.
Panting, he looked out over at the waiting armies, his talons curling into his claw, tight fists shaking with unused anger. He may have just killed the overlord, but clearly the pup wasn’t done. And that’s when Ragnar yelled out, “Attack!”
Vigholf released Rhona, pushed her away from him. “Kill them all. Leave none to remember this day.” He grinned at her. “We’ll remember it for them.”
With that, they separated and they all went to work.
Chapter 35
Izzy and Brannie collapsed by some cave, both panting and barely able to move.
“Of all your ideas,” Brannie told her, “definitely the most stupid.”
“It worked, didn’t it? He was only going to fly off before they could kill him. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for something new to kill.”
“That bitch Vateria’s still out there, cousin.”
“That’s not our problem. Gaius and his sister will have to deal with her.”
“Yeah, well, you just better hope our—”
“Parents don’t hear about it?” a voice snapped at them.
Izzy and Brannie flinched and looked up to see Ghleanna and Briec standing over them, glaring, more than a little pissed off.
Izzy tried her sweetest smile. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Shut up.”
Well, clearly her sweetest smile wouldn’t be working today.
Fearghus made his way over to the Eastern Pass. That’s where he found the Southland human army, his sister, and Annwyl . . . arguing with his sister while she simultaneously killed every enemy around her. How she managed to do both at the same time said much for her skill.
“If you’re just going to sit here and yell at me while doing nothing”—Annwyl screamed at Morfyd—“then you can just go the fuck home!”
“Don’t order me around! And after what you did? You’re lucky I don’t flay the skin from your bones!”
“Lovely, isn’t she?” another voice said beside Fearghus. “My Morfyd.”
Fearghus rolled his eyes at Annwyl’s general and Morfyd’s mate, sitting on his horse, gazing lovingly at Fearghus’s sister.
“How did we do?”
“Most are dead,” Brastias told him. “I sent a few squads out to track down any runners.”
“No prisoners?”
“You know Annwyl hates prisoners. She’d rather just kill them all. Besides”—he shrugged—“we don’t have to worry about feeding anyone and we’ll only have to kill them later. So it’s a waste of time to keep them alive now.”
“Do me a favor, Brastias. Get Morfyd for me.”
“Of course.” The general smiled. “You have no idea how grateful I am to see you alive and well, Lord Fearghus.”
Fearghus laughed. “Really? I never thought you’d have cared one way or the other.”
“Oh, I care. The entire Queen’s Army cares whether you live or die, my lord. Trust me, it would have been a dark day for me and mine if anything had happened to you. A dark day indeed.”