“Come on, horse. I know he’s heavy, but we must get him to the cottage and get him warm. I’ll give you extra oats, and you can even come inside with us.”
The horse strained against its cargo, still unsure of this new addition to their party, but somehow, they managed to drag the man up the hill and all the way into the cottage.
There was plenty of room for all of them to fit, and Brienne had to work another several minutes to clear away a place on the floor beside the fire for the cru-athru man to rest. Finally, once he was settled, she got swiftly to work on the fire. Unlike the night before, the logs and kindling here were very dry and caught quickly. As an extra blessing, no bird or animal nests blocked the chimney.
As the first wave of flames engulfed the wood, the gentle patter of sleet smacked into the thatched roof. Brienne fell back against the wall, exhaustion threatening to take her. She took in several deep breaths, the scents of dust, mildew, and damp stone mixing pleasantly with the tang of wood smoke. Delicate tendrils of warmth slowly curled away from the fireplace, and Brie was sorely tempted to shut her eyes and fall into oblivion.
“No,” she murmured to herself, “you can’t sleep. He isn’t out of danger yet.”
Groaning, she shoved herself away from the wall and approached the horse.
“I suppose I should give you a name,” she told the creature as she patted his neck.
He was a deep chocolate brown color, not the prettiest horse in the Morrigan’s army and although he hadn’t been too eager to drag the shapeshifter up the hill, he had proven a sturdy, patient beast. And unlike most of the other horses in the goddess’ war camp, he didn’t try to bite or kick Brienne every time she approached. The only kind soul she had met in her life besides Mynne.
“How about I call you Dair? Because you are sturdy like an oak and like an oak, I feel I can rely on you.”
The horse whickered and nibbled at Brienne’s sleeve, most likely looking for those oats she had promised him. She laughed. “Dair it is. Let me find you something to eat.”
While Dair munched happily from his feedbag, Brie pulled more blankets from beneath the saddle bags and even found some in the cabinets beside the fire place. The wool smelled musty but appeared to be undamaged. Thank the gods.
Brienne proceeded to heat the blankets in front of the fire, then drape them over the man. She checked his temperature every so often with a palm to his forehead, frowning when it didn’t seem to change. And since he was still unconscious, she looked over his wounds. The worst of his injuries appeared to be a nasty bruise on one arm, the shallow cuts and welts she had seen on his back, and three deeper ones on his shoulders in need of stitches. The arm would heal on its own. Hopefully, it wasn’t broken or fractured, but at least she could clean the wounds and sew the bad ones shut.
“That will give me something to do, at least,” she muttered, standing to fish around for more supplies in the saddle bags.
The fire’s warmth spread while Brienne threaded a needle and cleaned the cuts with alcohol. As she sewed small, neat stitches, the man never stirred, not even when she accidentally put weight on his injured arm.
When she finished, she placed her hand to his forehead again. Still, he was as cold as ice.
“Something’s not right, Mynne. He isn’t getting any warmer.”
She turned to look at her spirit guide. The blind wolf inclined her head, the scarred patches of fur where her eyes should have been giving off no emotion.
I will not lie next to him, if that is what you are suggesting. I hear in Firiehn draghans eat wolves.
Brienne scowled. He’s not a draghan now, and where would you have heard such a thing?
The soldiers in Raghnall’s camp, she sniffed, before laying her head back onto her paws.
Brie stiffened at the name. Raghnall O’Gadhra was one of the Morrigan’s top generals and the bane of Brienne’s existence. It was Raghnall who had discovered the secret to her glamour, how she could use it to drill through magic shields, even ones as ancient and impenetrable as the one protecting the Weald from the war goddess and her faelah. It was Raghnall who dragged Brienne to the edge of that ancient forest and ordered her to use her glamour to breach its invisible walls. And it was the same general who reported her failings to the Morrigan.
Raghnall’s image melted into existence inside her head. The scar dissecting his smug, handsome visage representing what he truly was: A cruel, two-faced bastard who had tormented Brienne since she was a child. It was him she was fleeing from more than the Morrigan, and remembering him now made her blood run cold and her limbs shake in terror once again.
Mynne detected her friend’s unease and jumped to her feet, growling. What is wrong?
N-nothing, Brienne managed to send to her spirit guide. Dark memories. Be still, they will pass.
Mynne huffed once then did as her familiar asked.
Brienne gritted her teeth, then glanced back down at the man lying half naked before her. For once, Mynne’s suspicion crept into her own heart. Was she making a mistake, helping this stranger? This cru-athru from Firiehn, a land considered enemy territory to the Faelorehn? Would she nurse him back to health only to discover another cruel, selfish being who would find some way to use her?
As quickly as the feelings arose, Brienne snapped them away. No, she wouldn’t go around judging the world based solely on her own narrow experiences, or the opinions of those who held power over her. There were good people out there, she just hadn’t found them yet. She only hoped this man was one of them. After all, did he not help start the fire last night?
Besides, she mused to herself, I will never let anyone use me again.
Brie glanced back over at Mynne who continued to lie still, snoozing in the far corner. The wolf had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the stranger. Very well. So be it.
Brienne stood and started stripping off her clothes. Mynne heard the movement and came suddenly to life.
What are you doing? she asked, her head once again lifted, her ears pricked forward in curiosity.
“Use my eyes if you are so curious,” Brienne retorted as she draped her shirt over a half-broken chair in front of the fire.
Brienne felt the familiar wash of cool, blue glamour as her spirit guide connected with her eyes. The wolf growled.
Do not! It is dangerous. If he wakes in the night, he will kill you!
“No, he won’t,” Brienne insisted, sitting down to remove her boots and stockings.
When she had stripped down to nothing but her undergarments, she took a deep breath so as not to lose her nerve, and lifted the woolen blanket draped over the man’s chest. She wriggled in close to him, resting one leg over his thighs as she pressed her torso against his stomach. Gods and goddesses of Eile, he was huge! Her head came to rest over his left pectoral muscle and as she allowed herself to settle against him, she shivered.
“H-he’s freezing!” she gasped, her teeth chattering a bit.
Snarling in slight anger, Mynne stood up and came to rest beside him on the opposite side of the fire.
If you are going to die, I might as well be near you when we both expire, she sent, her words colored with irritation.
“We, we won’t die, but he might,” Brienne managed, trying to send some of her body heat into the draghan man.
Use your glamour, the wolf suggested.
Brienne nodded and closed her eyes, drawing from her well of magic. The power within her flowed freely, and she encouraged it to exit her body in the form of heat. After fifteen minutes, the bitter edge of cold lessened. Ten minutes after that, she blinked up at the man and was relieved to see some color return to his skin.
“Oh, thank Eile!” she said.
After an hour of lending her body heat, Brienne got up to add more logs to the fire. A slight whimper left the man’s throat and his arms tensed, as if he wished to lift them, but he was soon still again. It was the first movement Brie had seen in him since taking on his current form, and her he
art lifted with hope.
She resumed her position, not wanting to leave him until she was convinced he was producing heat on his own.
I shall go try to catch some food, Mynne offered when the rain began to taper off and the sky started taking on the deeper tones of encroaching night.
Brienne sent a caress of gratitude down their connection. Mynne wasn’t the best hunter since she could not spot her prey, but every now and then, she could sniff out an animal that was an easy target.
With her spirit guide gone, Brienne gave into temptation and pulled a bit back from the Firiehn man to study his features once more. His fine, strong bone structure and dark brows intrigued her, as did the dark, softly waving hair that almost fell to his shoulders. It was a contrast to her own pale blond, as was his bronzed skin. She held her arm up against his, noting the slight difference in shade, and examined the several interesting tattoos she had only caught a glimpse of before. They decorated both his arms, from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder, where they disappeared behind his back. The marks seemed to tell a story, a tale of smoke and fire and fury. She very much liked them and wanted to study them more, to ask him about them. About his life. Where he came from. Who he was. But she could not and wasn’t sure she’d be brave enough to do so when he woke up, so instead, she told him about her world. She began with the stories she enjoyed hearing at the campsites while growing up and other small things, like how she liked to watch the stars come out at night or listen to the sound of a frog chorus in spring.
Eventually, she dozed off, still mumbling on like a schoolgirl making friends with a new classmate. Brienne talked to him until she had no more words left. Then, she dreamed, and for the first time in a very long while, those dreams were peaceful.
***
By the time Mynne returned, early nightfall had settled in and the sleet now falling from the clouds more closely resembled snow. Brienne was fast asleep, so Mynne had to wake her with a nudge of her cold, wet nose. The Faelorehn woman jerked awake and sat up, a little dazed from her short nap.
“Mynne?” she whispered. The cabin had grown dark, the fire nothing more than smoldering coals.
Here, she sent.
Brienne turned her head and found the white wolf standing just inside the doorway, a lean hare clutched between her teeth.
It isn’t much, but perhaps you can make something of it.
“Yes,” Brie breathed, yawning a bit. “It’s better than nothing. Thank you.”
Very carefully, she peeled herself away from the stranger, his temperature finally close to normal. Brienne wavered on her feet a little, pressing a hand to her forehead to stave off a spell of dizziness. Her fingers brushed over the scar marring the upper half of the right side of her face, and she grimaced. Even now, after having the unsightly mark for a couple of years, she still sometimes forgot it was there.
Brienne dressed as quickly as she could, tying up her long wavy hair to keep it out of her face, and knelt beside Mynne. The spirit guide had been right. There wasn’t much meat on the rabbit, but she carried some dried vegetables in her saddle bags and she’d spotted a dusty cauldron in the corner of the cabin earlier that day.
Brie dug out another knife and swiftly skinned the animal. She set the carcass aside and dragged the cauldron outside, using the wet snow to scrub it clean and fill it partway. Once back inside, she hung the vessel on the hook over the fire, added the dried vegetables, some salt and herbs, then got to work on the rabbit. She cut the meat free from the bone, tossing the bits of skeleton to Mynne as she added the meat into the pot. When every ingredient was in its place, Brienne tossed a few more logs into the fire, jabbing at the coals with a poker to bring the flames back to life.
“I just hope I don’t fall asleep again before we can enjoy this stew,” Brienne commented with a small smile.
Mynne lifted her head from the bones she was gnawing and gave a wolfish grin. You are welcome to fall asleep. Then, I can have the stew.
Brie huffed a small laugh, a sound that lifted her spirits, if only a little.
For an hour, she stirred her concoction with a wooden spoon she had found beside the cauldron, testing it every now and then. The flavor was a bit on the bland side, but after a long week on the run in the cold autumn north, it tasted like the food the Dagda himself might serve at one of his banquets. She hadn’t eaten in over a day, and she knew the draghan needed food if he was to heal.
“At least there will be plenty of broth for him,” she muttered, casting a glance in his direction. As she’d prepared the meal, he had remained mostly still. Unlike earlier, however, he took a deep breath every now and then, and even flexed his fingers a few times. A good sign.
“We’ll just have to keep an eye on any signs of fever,” she said ruefully.
Brienne did not drape herself over the cru-athru man that evening, but before curling up on her bedroll near him, she spooned broth from the stew into his mouth.
Is he actually swallowing it? Mynne wanted to know. Or are you just filling up his mouth?
Brienne scowled, but didn’t face her spirit guide.
I think he’s swallowing it. His throat is moving.
To her vast relief. It would be a grand disappointment if he slowly starved to death after all she had gone through to get him warm and patched up.
After the broth, she tried some water. He swallowed that, too.
“Thank the gods,” she breathed, placing a hand to her forehead. Her palm came away damp. She hadn’t realized she’d started sweating.
She cast a sidelong glance at Mynne. The white wolf was panting.
Does it seem hot in here?
Yes, the wolf replied, getting up and moving closer to the space where the door had once been.
Outside, the frozen rain had all but stopped, the precipitation now falling as tiny white crystals.
I might have to sleep in the snow. Why is it so hot all of a sudden?
Brienne eyed the fire. It wasn’t blazing as hot as it had been earlier. Odd.
The draghan man drew in a deep breath, startling Brienne into faltering back in surprise. He didn’t wake, but when he exhaled, a cloud of pale smoke tainted the air above his lips and nose.
“Draghan smoke,” she rasped, her heart speeding up. She turned to regard Mynne. “He is creating the heat, he must be!”
Brie didn’t entirely understand the races of Firiehn, but the man had been a draghan the day before, and that draghan had breathed fire. Perhaps in this smaller, more compact form the glamour it took to conjure fire had less space to roam. Now that he was on the path to recovery, maybe the fire within him was finding another way to dissipate.
“I think it’s his glamour, Mynne. I think he’s making it warmer in here.” No need to worry about fever, then, if the man could tolerate such high temperatures.
The wolf snorted and fell onto her stomach halfway out the door. I do not like it.
I know. But maybe if we let the fire die down it won’t get too warm.
Brienne gathered up her bedroll and her cloak and settled down on the far wall and out of reach of the horse’s feet. Despite the uncomfortable temperature of the room, exhaustion finally claimed her, and she drifted off.
Chapter Four
It was the cold that woke Brienne the next morning. A slow, penetrating chill her body had ignored for as long as it could. Sighing, she pulled herself from sleep and cast out her awareness, searching for Mynne. Her spirit guide was farther up the hill tracking game in the snow.
Good luck, she sent while covering a yawn with a chilled hand.
When she turned her eyes toward the hearth, she froze. A pile of the woolen blankets lay discarded like the shed skin of a snake. The cru-athru man was gone.
Brienne sat up, her heart leaping into her throat, and cast her eyes wildly around the cottage. She didn’t have to search long. There, across the room and pressed into the corner, was the stranger she had thought was on the verge of death the night before.
&n
bsp; Her spare cloak was draped over his shoulders, but he wore nothing else.
Brienne dropped her eyes and clenched her teeth together. But just as quickly returned her gaze to his face. It was unwise to turn your eyes from a potential enemy.
Just concentrate on his face, Brie, she told herself.
That nearly black, unkempt hair fell to his shoulders, and the stubble from the day before had grown into a short, dark beard. He sat in a crouch, one knee to the ground, the other lifted with a hand placed beside it to brace himself. As if he was preparing to bolt forward and attack her.
Brienne sat utterly still, trying as hard as she could to discern the intention in his eyes. And what eyes they were. She had noticed before, but now that he was entirely conscious and in a more familiar form, they burned with purpose, intelligence, and strength. He watched her as fiercely as a hawk tracking its prey.
It wasn’t until he relaxed his shoulders did Brienne realize just how still he had been sitting. He opened his mouth and, in a deep, accented voice, said, “Quor tatha syra?”
He startled a bit, his head jerking ever so slightly to the right as if something suddenly surprised him. He furrowed those thick eyebrows of his and repeated himself, but he did not look at her and when he spoke, his raspy voice was quieter, almost uncertain.
“Q-quor tatha syra?”
Brienne took a breath to answer, but realized she could make no reply. What had he said to her? The lifting of his tone at the end of the sentence made her believe he had asked a question. Having no other option, Brie decided to explain what she knew, hoping he might discover from her own tone and body language she meant to help him.
“Yesterday afternoon, I was passing through a town not far from here when a band of townsfolk arrived with a wagon loaded down with a dra-draghan. I intervened and took that draghan away. I camped on the hillside and tried to build a fire. The draghan - you - helped me, then lost consciousness. The next morning, a man lay where the draghan was chained. My spirit guide and I brought you to this cottage, and I managed to get you warm again.”
A Plague of Dragons (A Dragon Anthology) Page 16