Scout out a safe, secluded place to settle in for the night if you can, Mynne, she sent to her spirit guide.
The wolf cocked her head to the side, a habit she had picked up since losing both her eyes to the Morrigan’s soldiers. It had been part of Brienne’s punishment, a wound which had hurt her more than the burns had. In the end, Brie could harbor some gratitude, however. At least they hadn’t killed Mynne.
I believe there is a meadow of sorts up ahead, the wolf sent back through their mind connection. A place travelers often use for resting. It is surrounded by thick trees and a few standing stones. No one should bother us this night.
Within fifteen minutes, the team of horses had moved the hay cart clear of the road and into the shallow hollow of the small meadow. Brienne pulled on the reins and pushed the brake lever forward before hopping down to survey the area. It was wide, but mostly flat and protected by trees and stones on three sides. So long as no one happened by them in the night, they should have nothing to fear.
Brienne glanced up at the sky, wondering if those clouds would shed freezing rain or snow. Or perhaps nothing at all.
Best get this fire started then, if you wish for it to burn through the night, Mynne sent.
Brienne pursed her lips, then turned to eye the hay cart. She had been avoiding checking on the draghan. The beast had been so silent and motionless during their time spent on the road. She feared it had either died or was readying itself for an attack. Now that there was only one Faelorehn woman to challenge it, she wouldn’t be surprised if the creature sprang suddenly to life, spewing fire and swiping deadly claws. The very thought sent shivers of bone-melting dread through Brienne. Fire was a necessity of life, but ever since almost dying by it she had harbored some anxiety whenever it came time to kindle a flame, whether it be to light a candlewick or start a bonfire. Nevertheless, she would accomplish this task just as she had every night since her escape. After observing the draghan for several minutes, Brie concluded the creature was of no immediate threat. In fact, the cold weather was probably affecting it more than anything else.
Brienne spent ten minutes gathering what firewood she could find, grumbling over the fact that most of it was soaked through from a recent rainstorm. After several attempts with her flint and knife, she couldn’t get the damp leaves and twigs to catch, so she rummaged in her saddlebags for a section of old cloth, hoping it might work better as kindling. The dry wool and linen caught, but the green wood stubbornly resisted the licking flames.
“Cursed spirits!” she hissed, balling her half-frozen fingers into fists. “Mynne, I might need you to sleep close tonight and hope the clouds don’t drop ice upon us.”
The white wolf sniffed and inclined her head. Of course. It might be better not to have a fire anyway.
Brienne couldn’t argue with that. If the Morrigan’s generals considered her valuable enough to track down, then a fire would only draw attention to their location. She rocked back into a half crouch, one knee pressed into the damp earth, her elbow resting on the other, and peered back at the draghan.
“I am sorry we don’t have better cover, or a source of heat,” she said, regret tainting her words.
She only hoped the creature could withstand the chill. Or maybe it would succumb. That might actually be a sort of mercy. She hadn’t been able to get a good look at the beast’s wounds, but she didn’t doubt their existence. Perhaps even infection had settled in and that was why the draghan hadn’t moved.
As if in open defiance of those very thoughts, the monster decided at that moment to emerge from its delirium just long enough to crack open one eyelid. The iris melted into molten scarlet rimmed with deep red and focused in on her, the full attention of the draghan sending a nervous twinge through Brie’s body. The creature slowly lifted its head.
Brienne stepped back, afraid she had offended the beast in some manner. Had it heard her internal musings? Had she angered it? She held up her palms as it narrowed both eyes in her direction. The draghan drew in a deep breath and exhaled, a stream of heat and flame the color of a distant, pale blue star careened toward her. Brienne gasped and leapt aside, old, instinctual fear pumping adrenaline through her blood. The stream of fire slammed into her pathetic pile of wood with a hissing crackle of sound. The draghan kept up the jet until the once damp pile of logs and branches danced with orange and yellow flames.
With an exhausted huff, the creature let its head drop back against the cart bed, the chains weighing it down clanking ominously.
Brienne blinked, shocked at what had just occurred, her chest rising and falling as she tried to subdue her panic. She eyed the fire, the wood no longer smoking.
Mynne trotted up beside her, almost making her jump out of her skin.
Looks like you won’t freeze to death after all.
Brienne nodded out of habit, then returned her pale gaze to the draghan. The beast was utterly still, its eyes closed in pain once more. Only the tiny rise and fall of its flank told her the creature lived. When it first lifted its head and spit fire in her direction, Brienne had thought the draghan meant to turn her to ash. But that had not been the creature’s intent at all. Now it lie still, the cold of the night even more oppressive now that she had the heat of the fire to warm her numb fingers.
“But I fear the draghan will,” she murmured, in response to Mynne’s comment.
That can’t be helped, Mynne offered. You’ve done what you can for the monster. Removing it from the clutches of the Morrigan was the best thing you could ever have done for it, even if it should now perish.
Her spirit guide was probably right, but guilt ate away at her anyway. The draghan had clearly used up what little energy it had left to help her. There had to be something else she could do.
Brienne glanced around the clearing, now barely able to make any colors out in the dark. But she knew exactly where the fallen trees had been on her earlier hunt for firewood. She went back to her horse, now secured to a tree far away from the draghan, and pulled out her small axe.
What are you doing? Mynne questioned, her head tilted to the side as she tried to listen to Brienne’s movements.
“I’m going to try to help,” was her response.
Two hours later, Brie had managed to build a moat of larger logs around the wagon. The draft horses, still in their harnesses, had been secured to a massive oak near her own horse. She checked her ring of firewood, adjusting it so that it would be as close to the cart as possible without the risk of setting it on fire. She had taken some of the burning branches from the draghan’s fire and managed to get a few places smoldering. By the time her own exhaustion knocked her off her feet, a ring of flames encircled the trapped beast.
“I’m sorry I cannot do more for you tonight,” she said to the creature, “but I hope the fire takes off some of the chill. Tomorrow, I will see what I can do about the chains. I simply do not have the energy or the strength now.”
And that was the truth. Her fingers and toes were like icicles and spots swam before her eyes.
In response to her voice, the draghan opened one of its eyes again, a dark, slitted pupil rotating in her direction.
Brienne tried a smile, but her lips felt numb.
“Until the morning, then,” she promised, collapsing onto the sleeping roll she’d tucked beneath the wagon.
Despite her apprehension about being surrounded by flames, Brie settled down quickly, her exhaustion stronger than her unease. Besides, the logs were already burning down to hot coals, and soon, they would simply radiate heat until going out completely in a few hours’ time.
Mynne joined her after giving the draghan a suspicious glare, curling up beside her familiar within the wall of smoldering coals.
Brienne welcomed the familiar warmth of her spirit guide, her only source of comfort in a world that had so far offered her only cruelty.
As she waited for sleep, she thought of the draghan again and how it watched her with those smoldering citrine eyes. Of the way it h
ad used its strange and potent flames to start a fire she could not. The creature was a stranger in this world, and clearly, it had been treated badly. As far as the draghan knew, she could be just as terrible as those who had chained it to a wagon to offer up as a sacrifice, yet, it had helped her just now. Brienne set her jaw, thinking of the men and women under the Morrigan’s control who had used and abused her.
I won’t let that be your fate, she vowed. If you survive this night, I will find a way to return you to your home.
***
A shard of brilliant sunlight cutting through the evergreens woke Brienne the next morning. She grimaced and squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the sun to slip back beneath the horizon for an hour or so more. Despite the frosty morning air, she was quite warm where she lay and had no desire to move.
Brienne, you must wake. Something isn’t right. The draghan smells different . . .
Those words from her spirit guide were equivalent to a bucket of ice water splashing against her face.
Brienne shot up, almost clipping her head on the wagon.
“What is it?” she breathed. “Has the creature died?”
No, Mynne sent, her tone wary, it still breathes, though barely.
Brienne scrambled to her feet, her boots kicking aside the charred remains of the fire from the night before. She stood and spun around to face the wagon. What she saw shocked a gasp from her throat. No longer did a black and bronze draghan crowd the bed of the wagon, but a man. He lay face down, the way the draghan had been situated, not a stitch of clothing to protect him from the bitter cold. His head was turned away from her, his arms sprawled in front of him as if he’d caught himself falling before losing consciousness. Dark, tousled hair fanned out across his shoulder and over the rough-hewn planks. Several ugly gashes marked his buttocks and torso, the worst of the slices running diagonally from his shoulders toward his spine. The heavy chains which had contained the draghan now pinned him helplessly to the wagon bed.
Carefully, Brie stepped forward.
Beware! Mynne warned, a growl in her throat.
Brienne ignored the white wolf and stepped up to the wagon, reaching out a hand to place on the man’s forearm. She hissed as her fingers brushed his flesh. Gods and goddesses of Eile, he was half frozen.
“Mynne! We have to get the fire going again. Gather what branches you can and see if there are any coals that survived the night.”
Reluctantly, the wolf did her master’s bidding as Brienne frantically worked the ends of the chains free from the hooks along the edge of the wagon. When the links were unhooked, she climbed onto the flat bed and started dragging the chains from the man’s huge body. She had seen tall soldiers before in the employ of the Morrigan, but no one compared to this man. He was at least seven feet tall, if not taller, and his heavily muscled arms and legs would strike fear into the most seasoned of warriors.
Cursing again, she leaped from the wagon and fished her cloak from beneath it. Mynne was returning with the first set of branches as Brienne draped her wool cloak over the man. It looked like a child’s blanket on him, barely covering the backs of his thighs and half his back.
This won’t do, she thought miserably.
“Mynne, we need to get him next to the fire, but he’s too large. I don’t know if I can lift him.”
No, she was certain of it, not even with the help of her glamour.
The wood on the cart is thick, is it not? Bring the fire to him, Mynne suggested.
Brienne nodded before jumping down to help her spirit guide.
Throughout the rest of the morning, she and Mynne gathered branches and small logs, placing them around the Firiehn man the same way they’d built up the ring around the wagon last night. Brienne managed to revive enough of the coals to get the new pyre smoldering, and with a little luck and much patience, she soon had a blaze crackling and heating the air.
Brienne took back her cloak and held it up to the fire, heating it before tucking it around the man again. She repeated this process with the extra blankets as well.
“Come on,” she murmured, “I need you to fight. I need you to stay with me.”
Brienne was heating another small blanket over the fire when Mynne sent to her, Are you going to allow me to see what has become of this draghan? Why it smells odd?
Oh, yes. I’m sorry.
In her haste to lend aid, Brienne hadn’t stopped to consider what it meant that her draghan had shifted forms in the night. But she could think about such things later. Taking a deep breath, Brie reached deep inside her mind, seeking out her mental connection with Mynne. When she found it, she drew out her spirit guide’s essence just enough until a gray-blue film clouded her eyes, proof that the wolf was borrowing her vision.
Not just a Firiehn draghan after all, Mynne mused with mild canine interest.
Brienne shook her head, her chest suddenly tight. No. Not just a draghan after all, but a cru-athru.
Cru-athru? Mynne asked.
A creature of legend. A being capable of taking on two forms, one similar to that of a Faelorehn man or woman, the other,
The white wolf finished the thought for her, The form of a draghan.
“Or another animal. I had no idea they truly existed,” Brienne breathed, sitting back on her heels as she studied the still form before her once more. “Only the Tuatha De are said to have this power.”
The man, she decided, looked Faelorehn, at least the parts of him she had seen before covering him with blankets. His face was hidden beneath that dark hair, so she couldn’t tell how closely he resembled a Faelorehn man in that sense. He could have a scaled face for all she knew.
Apparently, Mynne’s internal words drawled across Brienne’s mind, you were mistaken.
It took Brienne a few moments to realize her spirit guide was referring to the existence of the cru-athru. And in response to that, Brienne could only shake her head slightly.
Apparently, I was.
Chapter Three
Mynne, who had disappeared once again to seek out more firewood, returned to the glen bursting with energy.
Brienne! I have discovered an abandoned cottage not too far up the mountain.
Brie straightened. Where?
This way, she sent before trotting up the road.
With a careful glance back at the Firiehn man, Brienne rose from her place of vigil and followed her spirit guide. Since the entire morning and part of the afternoon had been spent trying to revive the draghan shifter, Brienne had planned on camping out one night more, despite the ever growing darkness of the clouds. But if they could find shelter, even if that shelter had been left to the machinations of nature for who knew how many years, she would be grateful. After all, a few crumbling walls and a section of rotting roof would be better than the bed of a hay cart burned through in a few places from their fire.
Mynne continued to lead Brienne up the road a ways, but only after a half mile or so, she veered right onto a path mostly hidden by overgrowth. The trail continued to lead uphill until it leveled out into another meadow. And at the opposite end of that clearing stood a run-down cottage tucked snuggly against the hillside. The front door was missing, as well as the windows, but the moss and fern covered roof looked mostly intact. When she stuck her head inside, Brienne smiled with relief. A fireplace stood at one end and piled beside it was at least a week’s supply of dry firewood.
“Well done, Mynne!” she breathed as they hurried back down to where the cru-athru man and wagon waited.
For the next hour, Brie worked feverishly crafting a cot from fir saplings and pine branches. When she deemed it large and sturdy enough, she hitched it to her horse using the harnesses of the others. The draft horses had been set free that morning. Brienne only hoped they’d find their way back to their barn. Their master would assume the draghan had been delivered into the greedy, and appreciative, arms of the Morrigan.
Brienne directed her horse to stand next to the bed of the cart, patting it soothingly when i
ts nostrils flared, eyes rolling back to glimpse the still unconscious shifter.
“Easy, horse,” she murmured. “He is too injured to harm you.”
The large animal settled down but Brienne looped his reins around one of the hooks on the wagon just to be safe.
She then got to work removing the iron bars from one side of the wagon before rolling the half-frozen man toward the edge, all the while cursing at his dead weight and apologizing for the rough treatment.
Mynne sat panting patiently a few feet away, her head tilting back and forth as she listened to the actions of her familiar.
I wish you would let me see, she groused.
Nothing to see, Brienne sent.
She shoved one last time against the Firiehn man, grunting with the effort. He slid over the edge of the cart bed and landed in a heap, but fortunately almost completely onto the pallet. He now lay face up and Brie averted her eyes as she tucked her cloak back around his middle. She hoped she hadn’t injured him further, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Before standing once more, she cast a quick glance at his face, her breath catching a little. She didn’t know what she expected to find there, but it hadn’t been masculine beauty. Dark eyebrows perched below a tall forehead and on either side of a strong nose, mercifully not broken despite the other injuries the man had collected. High cheekbones, full lips and a sturdy jaw completed the portrait. He wasn’t what Brienne would necessarily call handsome, but there was something arresting about his face, even without those eyes boring into her. She wondered if they were the same color in his more Faelorehn form. She shivered at the thought of those smoldering eyes regarding her from this much less reptilian face.
Brie cast one glance at the sky, her mouth pinching in worry. It wouldn’t be long before freezing rain pelted them. They had been lucky enough the night before that the clouds had held onto their contents a little longer. Time to get moving. She climbed atop her horse and tapped its flanks, but it didn’t like the weight of the shapeshifter behind it.
A Plague of Dragons (A Dragon Anthology) Page 15