He didn’t move. The Firiehn man only looked down at her, his mouth hard, his brows drawn together in an expression akin to confusion, or irritation. She could not tell.
“Please, Dorran!” she cried, her eyes pricking with tears. “If they don’t kill you outright, they will overpower you and drag you back to the Morrigan. You will become her slave! Please, return to your homeland!”
She tried pushing him again, but he would not budge. Like a great oak with deep roots. Nothing, not even a storm tearing down from the north could break or bend him. Hot tears streamed down Brie’s face, and she curled her fingers into fists, pounding them against his chest now in rhythm with the beat of approaching hooves. Frustration, utter, hopeless frustration frayed her nerves. She was still recovering her strength from the fight with the river, but her struggles were more emotional than physical. Gods, this was difficult enough. Surely, he could tell she wanted him to leave? Why did he stay?
Mynne’s frantic words scrawled across her mind, flicking aside the other, more panicked thoughts. Brienne! They are coming closer. Why does he not move?
I don’t know! Brienne sent back. I don’t know.
Had she not been callous enough to him these last few days? Had she not shown him she didn’t care? What was the point of suffering through all that if it didn’t save him?
Perhaps, I should bite him?
Brienne tore her face away from Dorran’s chest and glared at her spirit guide. You’ll do no such thing!
He will get himself captured! she sent along with a snarl.
Don’t you think I know that? Maybe he doesn’t understand.
Mynne snorted and sat on her haunches. As you once pointed out to me, he is not to be stupid.
Brienne knew that. One look into those carmine eyes of his had revealed a mind that sliced like a razor. Brie didn’t want to think of the possible reasons why he might refuse to leave. She just wanted him to disappear into that dolmarehn, to return to his world so that hers could never harm him again. But the rumbling of hooves, claws, and feet was all around them now. The shrieks and moans of the Morrigan’s faelah, grotesque, reanimated monsters pieced together from various animal parts, filled the air along with their foul stench. Small pebbles and stones, kicked up by the faelah and horses of the Faelorehn soldiers, went skittering about her feet. They were upon them, circling and cutting them off from the dolmarehn not a hundred yards away. Brienne ceased her abuse against Dorran’s body and almost collapsed into him in despair.
For several long moments, Brie simply breathed, her face pressed against Dorran’s shirt. She inhaled his scent, her fingers curling into the thin fabric, trying to find what little peace she could. Around her, the clatter and chatter of warriors and faelah settled down, the voice of the wind once again taking up its song. Only when she shivered against the cold breath of the mountains did Brienne realize Dorran’s heat had returned. She wanted to curl up into it, to fall asleep and wake up in a beautiful spring glade with this Firiehn man smiling down upon her. But she was as far away from that dream as she had been when chained to a standing stone in the middle of a war camp.
And if to remind her just how dismal her fortune had turned, a cold, smooth voice rang out above the dying clatter, skittering down her spine like ice-legged spiders.
“You cannot run anymore, little rabbit.”
Every nerve in Brienne’s body drew taut. She turned, her stomach churning in abject fear, to find the circle of soldiers and faelah parting to reveal a tall man atop a black horse. The animal looked maltreated; its ribs showing, raw scars marking its hide.
The Faelorehn man sitting atop the poor beast leaned forward, his forearm draped across the saddle horn as he ran cool, assessing eyes over Brienne’s body. She was fully clothed but that look suggested otherwise. She tightened her jaw and lifted her chin in defiance even as cold sweat pricked her forehead.
“You almost slipped through my fingers, Brienne,” the man continued. “But our mistress promised me I could have full rein of you if I brought you back.”
He smiled, the action pulling at the large scar bisecting his face.
Behind her, Dorran snarled low in his throat. In turn, the faelah, who had managed to quieten down, came alive once more with uneasy chatter. The ones closest to Brienne snapped at one another, rotten teeth and flesh falling away.
Brie turned away in disgust, then spat at Raghnall, “Go to Donn’s underworld!”
The scarred man sneered at her. “Is that the best you can do, Brienne? Throw harmless threats at me?”
Brienne lifted her sword into a middle guard position. “I know I can’t win against you,” she managed with a shaking voice. “But I will not go back with you. And, I will not let you take him, either. I’ll fight until my death.”
She inclined her chin to acknowledge the Firiehn man standing behind her.
Raghnall laughed. “The villagers told us you absconded with their draghan. You swore, according to them, you would take it to the Morrigan.”
Dry chuckles and curses traded places between the soldiers mounted behind Raghnall. Brienne ignored them, her heart falling to her toes.
“Is this your draghan, then? A cru-athru of Firiehn? A very rare find, indeed. The Morrigan will be delighted. But what is wrong with him? Is he struck stupid? I have yet to hear him speak.”
More catcalls and rude comments ensued, all ringing out over the low chatter of irritated faelah. Brienne refused to look away from Raghnall. No matter how close terror inched near, one never took their eyes off an enemy.
The scarred man glowered even further and something like irritation crossed his face. He sat up abruptly in the saddle, startling his horse a little and encouraging the other soldiers to cease their chatter.
“Tell me, Brienne, what is keeping me from slaying you and capturing this trash from Firiehn? Draghan or not, he cannot overpower the glamour of fifty Faelorehn soldiers of the Morrigan.”
Brienne turned to face Dorran, her eyes stinging with tears. “Transform. Please, transform into your draghan form and fly away from here. It’s better than this fate!”
Dorran’s eyes met hers, and that stubborn fire only burned more fiercely.
“I have, however, a proposition Brienne, if you are willing to listen.”
Stiffly, she turned to face her adversary once more. A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a draft of icy wind fingered through his tawny hair. Behind him, the small legion of soldiers fidgeted restlessly atop their own mounts. Some leered at her while others kicked at unruly faelah.
“Although a draghan is a grand prize for my mistress, I believe you when you say you will not come to me alive. There is no doubt you will die if this turns into a fight, but I will instruct my men to keep the draghan alive. So, he’ll become the property of the Morrigan, despite your sacrifice. Unless you come with me willingly.”
The word tore from her throat before she could fully consider it. “No!”
Raghnall held up a gloved hand.
“I will swear a blood oath not to harm the draghan if you meet my terms. We can even stay here and watch him disappear back into the dolmarehn.”
A wave of black memories swirled through Brienne’s mind: pain, death, suffering ... Like her nightmares come to life, the horror of it all stole her breath and nearly brought her to her knees. She had sworn never to return to her previous life. She had promised herself to welcome death instead. But if she went with Raghnall peacefully ... Her stomach churned and she almost became sick right there in front of them all. Her every instinct scraped its claws against her mind, begging her to reconsider, but she ignored the sharp pain.
Brienne lifted her gaze and glanced over the grotesque heads of the faelah and past the soldiers who would punish her later for her transgressions, and spotted Mynne. Her spirit guide paced stressfully, her tongue lolling in a pant. Brie could feel the wolf’s desire to attack; to defend her friend. But like Brienne herself, Mynne fought against her instincts. And
she knew, just as Brienne did, what the Faelorehn woman’s decision would be.
I must, she sent to her spirit guide on a whisper of thought.
I know, was the sad reply.
With a long, drawn-in breath, Brie flicked her eyes up to Raghnall’s and with her lips pressed tightly together, jerked her head once in agreement to his offer. His smile had her gagging on bile that refused to settle.
Brienne then turned back to Dorran, who had stayed rigidly, strangely, silent this entire time. His burning eyes were locked on Raghnall, and the heat unfurling from his skin was almost too hot to bear.
“Y-you have to return to Firiehn now, Dorran. Please,” her voice was a raw rasp, and she infused into it as much desperation as she could muster. “You must leave this place.”
Then, she leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to escape him again, but this way, you will get your life back. Don’t you understand? I, I couldn’t live knowing you had became their slave, too, so please, for me. Please don’t fight. Just walk through the dolmarehn and be safe. Be free, so I can be happy in knowing you will not suffer the same fate I did so long ago.”
She tried pushing at his chest again, but he took her by the elbows, his grip firm and gentle. He shook his head once, the corner of his mouth curving up ever so slightly, then leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. Brienne gasped in surprise, the heated caress of his mouth shocking amidst the cold and frost surrounding them. He pulled away too soon, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Syra uchar sefrain nachta dasar mehr matha, coriehl, ehta meht uchar nacha iche ulain soriette dasar syra,” Dorran breathed.
Abruptly, he stepped away from her and fell into a crouch. Before anyone could move, or consider what the large man was doing, the cru-athru shuddered, his body swelling, his bones and muscles morphing. Brienne jumped back with a cry, her hands pressing to her mouth, her eyes wide.
The draghan shifter’s ill-fitting clothes tore away, and his arms and legs lengthened as dark scales surfaced upon his skin. Massive, black wings sprouted from his shoulders like banners of ebony silk, and his head took on a triangular shape, his neck pushing forward to support it. Brie made to step back farther but a long, sinuous tail impeded her movement. Almost tripping, she threw her arms back, her palms pressing against warm, rough scales.
With a jerk, she was pressed forward against the dragon’s side, the massive beast curling protectively around her, his tail acting as a shield. Brienne blinked down to see dark claws gouging the hard-packed earth below. A low, rumbling snarl split the air, pushing the faelah into an even more panicked frenzy and putting their howls of presumed dominance to shame.
The moment Brienne had control of her senses, she turned to find the scarlet and citrine eyes of a draghan focused on her. She sucked in a breath. Not a reaction of alarm this time, but one of wonder and admiration. Dorran was even bigger than she remembered, now that his health had returned, and his great wings were spread wide to keep their attackers at bay.
He lowered his head and moved it closer to her, his nostrils flaring as he took in her scent. He rumbled deep in his throat again, but this time there was no threat there. At least, not one aimed toward her.
Brienne reached out her hands, placing them against his muzzle between his snout and his eyes and tried, one final time, to push him away.
“Go,” she rasped. “Go now. Fly to the dolmarehn and return to Firiehn. Before they can capture you. I could not bear it if you became a slave to the Morrigan, too.”
Tears streamed down her face, made into tracks of ice by the frigid wind of the mountains.
Dorran lifted his spiked head then, his jagged teeth bared, and drew in a breath. Then, he turned his attention to the monsters and Faelorehn men surrounding them, all of which were coming to life now that the shock of witnessing his transformation had faded. They were reaching for swords and bows, spears and war axes; pulling on their powerful glamour as they readied for the fight. The crawling faelah, almost as one entity, rushed forward, cries of bloodlust and violence tearing free of their ruined throats. Brienne knew what they sought, for she could feel it even more now than before: Dorran’s Firiehn magic. That blazing, rich glamour pouring from his draghan form.
“Fly!” she screeched at him as she swung her sword, cutting apart the first line of faelah.
For once, he listened. Only, he didn’t take to the air to escape. Dorran reached forth with his front legs and grasped her around the waist, lifting her into the air with him. Brie screamed as the ground pulled away from her feet, but she managed to keep hold of her sword. An arrow, then a spear, zinged past her, glancing off Dorran’s scaled hide. He roared in either anger or pain, she couldn’t tell, then a torrent of heat, bright turquoise and white, streamed overhead. Brienne cried out again and covered her head with one arm, her heart galloping in her chest, as chaos reigned beneath her.
Chapter Eleven
The torrent of fire ceased and Brienne felt her feet touch ground again. Dazed and disoriented, she blinked stupidly up at the black dragon winging back toward the writhing band of soldiers.
“No!” she cried out, her throat raw from shouting.
She tried to stand up, fell onto her backside twice, then wobbled a few steps on the third try.
“They’ll kill you! There are too many, and they have powerful glamour of their own!”
She was crying now, tears streaming freely and dripping from her chin. A sharp sting on her arm proved to be a cut from some blade, and her abdomen felt bruised where Dorran had held her. But none of that mattered. He was a strong and powerful draghan, there was no doubt about that, but he was no match for the Morrigan’s best soldiers.
Brie fell to her knees, the small stones digging into her flesh through her trousers. “No,” she cried, her vision swimming, her strength flagging. “No!”
A swift shadow passed overhead, blotting out the small amount of sunlight filtering through the clouds. Then another, and three more after that in quick succession.
Brie gasped when a blast of wind, not sent down by the mountain, forced her back. She flung out an arm, her hand coming into hard contact with the ground.
Brienne! a familiar presence cried out in her mind.
Mynne! Where are you?
Here! Just within the cavern leading to Firiehn. The other draghan men told me to wait here.
Other draghan men ... ? Brienne glanced up, blinking away her tears and fatigue, to discover what had caused the shadows and blast of wind. Draghans. Five more draghans, all similar in size to Dorran and all in varying shades of green, gold, copper, blue, and gray.
Brienne, are you able to walk?
Brie didn’t register her spirit guide’s words at first. She was too enthralled watching the draghans in their deadly hunt. They were like great, trained birds, weaving around one another in an intricate dance of war. And there was Dorran, leading them as they spat jets of crimson, gold, and blue-white fire upon the Morrigan’s most prestigious war band. The screams of pain and terror as the evil men and their faelah were roasted alive hardly bothered her at all. They deserved this fate.
Brienne! Come away, you have been injured!
Brie blinked up to find her spirit guide standing at her shoulder, her ears flicking at every yip and screech of pain erupting from the Faelorehn men and faelah several yards away. But Brienne couldn’t move. Her attention was entirely upon her cru-athru lover, fear and pride fighting a heated battle within her heart. Every time a spear or arrow or blade came his way, he dodged it easily with a graceful tilt of his wings, only to roast the man who dared try to harm him. He was a warrior, no doubt, more so in this form than his other form. But there was something about the way his head moved in small, jerking motions. As if ... as if he was watching something, or searching for something.
Brienne drew in a sharp gasp when she spotted Raghnall pulling away from the mêlée. He dug his heels into his abused horse, forcing it into an unsteady trot, his scarred fa
ce flashing over his shoulder as he turned to see who might follow him. Everyone was busy avoiding draghan flame or striking back with their own glamour and weapons. No one noticed the cowardly way their leader made his escape. Well, almost no one.
In an instant, Dorran dropped from the sky, his dark wings pulled in close as he easily caught up to Raghnall. Brie clasped her hands over her mouth, her eyes going wide, as the draghan plucked the Faelorehn man free of his horse. The poor animal tumbled forward and collapsed onto its knees, exhausted, but clear of dangerous draghan talons. Raghnall wasn’t so lucky. A sharp scream of blood-curdling fear, a roar as Dorran clamped four-inch long teeth over Raghnall’s head, and then a quick jerk followed by a loud crunch.
Feeling sick again, Brienne reeled back, nearly tripping over Mynne.
What is it?! the wolf sent with a canine whine.
Ra-Raghnall. Dorran just killed Raghnall.
Good! was Mynne’s impassioned retort.
Yes. Good. But Brie would need some time to scrub that image from her mind’s eye. The teeth, the brutality of it, the sound of cracking bone and spurting blood ...
She collapsed against the lip of the massive cave, becoming sick upon the stones just inside. Mynne stayed beside her, panting and whining in sympathy. After some time, Brienne managed to stand straight again.
Are you alright?
Yes. That was a lot to take all at once.
The battle, yes. The violent end to her tormentor and the heady relief of knowing he would never hurt her again. Her heart-swelling pride in Dorran, whom she had tried so hard to keep safe and who, in the end, needed no protection at all. The sudden arrival of more men from Firiehn, all shapeshifters like Dorran. Were they his brothers? His friends? Enemies as well? Perhaps they had saved him from the Morrigan’s clutches only to take him home to a worse fate.
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