by D. L. Snow
With a loud smack, Cahill pounded the table, “Dammit, woman, what is wrong with you? What do you take me for? An ogre? I will not molest you. I will not take advantage of you. You have my word.”
“Your word,” Brea spat. “What is that worth?”
Cahill stood so suddenly he knocked his stool flying. He stalked Brea like a mountain lion advancing on a young fawn. “My word is everything,” he seethed. “I am an honorable man, Brea, and I do not take kindly to such insults on my character.” He did not stop his approach until he towered over her, making Brea feel both small and insignificant. Then Cahill took a deep breath and a reluctant step back. His smile did not reach his eyes. “This tent is big enough for the both of us. I will not compromise you.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.” He paused and his smile grew. “I will not seduce you, Brea…unless of course you want me to.”
“See!” Brea pointed at him. “That! What you did just there. Those innuendos. That’s seduction! You’ve proven over and over again that you can’t be trusted.”
In one step, Cahill stood chest-to-chin with Brea. He wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her against him. In a low voice, he whispered in her ear, “Truly, Princess, you need a lesson in seduction. I am only engaging in courtly banter.” He traced her jaw with the tip of his finger. “The fact that my banter bothers you tells me that you take my innuendos seriously.” He cocked his head to the side, “Tell me, Brea, who is it that you don’t trust? Is it me…or is it you?”
Before Brea could answer, the door to the tent swung open and the valet stepped through. “The scouts have arrived, Your Highness, and the officers are gathering to hear the news.”
Cahill released Brea and turned back to the table to gather the maps. “Please make yourself comfortable, Princess.” Then he pushed the flap at the door and ducked out.
Brea watched him go, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. She couldn’t stop thinking about Cahill’s question. Who was it that she didn’t trust? Was it him or was it her?
“I’m coming too,” Brea insisted.
“Stop it, Brea, and I mean it. You sound like a petulant child.” Brea stamped her foot, and Cahill turned to her with a single brow raised as if to say, “You see?” But what he said instead made Brea even angrier. “If you want to be of use, help me with my armor.”
Picking up the nearest weighty object, a clay jug, Brea flung it at Cahill’s head. He ducked just in time, and the urn thudded heavily to the ground. “Men!” Brea fumed and then pushed her way out of the tent. The morning sun had yet to burn the moisture from the ground and pockets of mist clung to low-lying depressions, giving the perfect cover for hunting dragons. If the hunters knew what they were doing, that was.
The telltale sounds of battle preparation met Brea’s ears as she wandered through the camp. Steel against steel, steel against stone, as last minute sharpening of weapons took place—probably more out of nerves than necessity—steel against leather as swords were sheathed and unsheathed. Conversation was at a minimum, none of the raucous laughter of the night before, and even the horses shifted peculiarly as they sensed the tension in the camp. A familiar whinny brought Brea up short.
“Elrond!” she said with a smile as she patted the horse’s nose. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” The horse nuzzled her hair and whickered softly.
“Was this your horse, Highness?”
Brea turned and recognized the rider from the day before. “Yes. What’s your name, soldier?”
“Bailey.”
With a nod, Brea said, “Listen, Bailey. There’s something you should know about Elrond. When you’re hunting dragons he’s trained to—”
“Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” Bailey interrupted. He ignored any further instruction from her as he stepped into the stirrup and mounted the horse. Before he rode away he said, “A token, Princess?”
“How about some spit in the eye?” Brea mumbled beneath her breath. Then she forced a smile and pointed at her unconventional attire and said, “I have nothing to give but words of encouragement. Fight well, Bailey.”
He touched a hand to his sword and then turned Elrond and kicked him into a trot to catch up with the forming ranks.
“Idiot,” Brea muttered as she watched Bailey join ranks. Then she started to follow the company on foot as they moved slowly down into an open field. “You’re all a bunch of overblown, armor-clad, sword-wielding idiots!” The battle drums sounded and banners waved in the morning breeze and Brea grumbled under her breath. Who did they think they were going to battle with? A neighboring kingdom? This was not the way to fight dragons. All that noise, all those horses? It would only serve to attract dragons and incite them into a feeding frenzy.
A lone tree stood atop a knoll overlooking the field and soldiers below. It would be the perfect place to watch the massacre and, though climbing sent sparks of pain down her leg, Brea didn’t pay much attention. Once securely seated in an upper branch, Brea waited, as did the soldiers. The sun rose and burned off the morning dew. It was going to be a hot day. Excellent weather for dragons—the beasts preferred to attack in the heat. The sunshine was dreadful for soldiers who were already sweating in heavy armor and would be looking directly into the sun, battling dragons from above.
From the south, a strange black vee darkened the horizon. Brea watched with horrified fascination as the dragons drew near. She’d never seen anything like it. A horde of dragons, flying in formation. Even from this distance, their angry squawks filled the air, their stench burned her nostrils. Within too short a time, the dragons were upon them, circling the field and the soldiers below. The futility of the company’s arrows brought a lump to Brea’s throat. She shut her eyes when she heard the first burst of flames and the screams of agony from the men and horses.
A sob tore through her chest, and Brea pressed her hands to her ears. Behind her closed lids she did not see a company of soldiers—she saw a crumbling castle, she watched as her three younger sisters and her four older ones ran for cover, but there was no cover to be had. Her mother fleeing with the new babe cradled in her arms, blackened with one breath of a damnable beast, the baby charred into a lump of coal in her mother’s singed arms. Her father, sword in hand, doing all he could to save his family. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
With tears streaming down her face, Brea swung down from the branch and jumped the remaining three feet to the ground. She didn’t even notice the searing pain in her leg as she ran, hobbling, back to camp. It was one thing to fight dragons. It was quite another to watch. Brea would be a spectator no longer.
The rest of the day was spent in preparation. She sharpened her sword herself, gathered arrows and fitted them with strips of cloth. She scoped out the surrounding landscape, devising battle plans in her mind, all the while trying, without success, to ignore the sounds of anguish from the battlefield. Her only consolation was that if there were still men to feel pain, there were still men who were fighting.
Brea stopped and lifted her face to the sky, sending a silent prayer that one of those men still fighting would be Cahill.
It was the silence that alerted Brea to the end of the battle and had her scrambling out of the tent. With a hand to her forehead, she searched the sky, but only benign clouds floated overhead. The dragons were gone. Limping as quickly as she could, she hurried toward the field, but the soldiers were already returning. What was left of them. Comrades leaned upon comrades. Others had bodies lying limp in front of saddles. Beyond the sad procession Brea could make out wisps of smoke where piles of the dead smoldered on the field.
In her panic to spot the prince, Brea nearly missed him. The plumage atop his helmet was singed beyond recognition; he dragged his feet like the two horses he led, one of which was piled high with injured men.
“Cahill!” Brea shouted and rushed to him.
Cahill barely acknowledged her. He handed her the reins to one of the horses and instructed her to take the
wounded to the surgeon’s tent. It took her a moment to realize the horse carrying the burden was Elrond. He hung his head next to hers as if in apology and Brea patted him and whispered soothing words into his tired ears.
When she returned to the tent, she found Cahill sitting on the stool, staring blank-eyed into space. She didn’t think he noticed her until he said, “You can have your horse back.”
Brea sucked in a breath. “Bailey?”
Cahill turned his empty eyes on her. “He’s alive. But he refuses to ride a horse that’s afraid of dragons.” Cahill studied her, and Brea watched as all the emotions of the day flitted across his face. Suddenly he was on his feet. “What kind of dragon slayer has a horse that is afraid of dragons? Tell me that?”
But Cahill wasn’t the only one with battle scars. Brea had watched and listened all day and her own emotions ran raw. “Afraid of dragons! You idiot!” She stormed up to Cahill and gave him a good hard shove. “Elrond is not afraid, he’s trained to stay back unless I call him. What kind of fool takes horses into battle with dragons? Do you know nothing about the beasts?”
Brea found herself in a staring match with Cahill. Sparks of anger, hatred and humiliation flew between them. It was Cahill who blinked first. “If you know so much about dragons, why don’t you enlighten me?” His voice shook with barely concealed rage.
Brea turned away from the intensity of his gaze. Her breath came hard and fast as she tried to decide where to begin. “First of all, dragons have very small brains. They’re governed by their instincts, which are essentially food and destruction.” She paced the room, stopping every few moments to glare at the prince. “How many horses did you lose?”
“About fifty.”
“And how many men?”
Cahill was slow to reply. “Not quite so many, but close.”
“Tell me, did the dragons eat the horses or the men?”
Brea watched as Cahill considered her question. Then his eyes widened as realization struck. “They ate a few men, but…mostly horses.”
“And, how many dragons did you slay?”
Quietly, Cahill said, “One.”
Brea clenched her fists and groaned. “One? One!” She shook her head and cursed as she paced some more. “I’m not a mathematician, Your Highness, but I think the odds are heavily in the dragons’ favor.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Cahill shouted. “Do you think I don’t know that I led my men into a slaughter?” He stormed up to Brea and grabbed the front of her tunic to pull her face closer to his. “I watched them die, Brea. I was there.” Brea had seen Cahill upset. She’d seen him angry. Brea had never seen Cahill like this before. He looked like he wanted to tear out her throat with his teeth and, in his current state, Brea had no doubt he was completely capable of such a feat. In fact, Brea was pretty sure that was exactly what the prince intended to do as he twisted the knot of her hair in his fist, yanked her head back and exposed her throat. But instead of her throat he devoured her mouth, in a terrible, frantic, crushing kiss.
To her surprise, Brea kissed him back. She met his ferocity with a fierceness of her own. When he plunged his tongue into her mouth, she sucked on him, nipped him and then sucked some more. It was she, not Cahill, who pulled and tugged at Cahill’s clothing, trying unsuccessfully to rip the chainmail from his chest, needing to touch him, to hold him and feel his skin next to hers. Having no luck with his chest, Brea instinctively moved lower, finding the knot at his waist and frenetically working it with one hand.
At first when Cahill covered her hand with his, Brea thought it was to help her undo the tie. But then he held her hand still against the conspicuous ridge beneath his trousers, not allowing her to move. He tore his lips away from hers, panting heavily as he rested his chin atop her head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice heavy with torment as he pulled away. “I gave you my word. I’m sorry, Brea.”
Brea licked her swollen lips and gulped air in order to get her own breathing under control. “It’s not your fault,” she said in a breathy voice. “It’s the battle. I’ve seen it before, how battle makes men…” Brea didn’t finish. She stepped forward to lay her hand on Cahill’s arm, but the prince backed away.
“Don’t come too close, Princess. I’m not sure I have myself completely under control.”
Stopped in her tracks, Brea wondered if she should admit to him that she didn’t want him under control. That after all her protests, the very thing she wanted at this time was to give in to Cahill’s angry passion. To soothe him with her body, to ease the guilt she recognized in him because she’d lived with it herself for five years.
But Cahill would never forgive himself for using her, whether she allowed him to or not. Brea was beginning to suspect he was a better man than she’d ever imagined. So Brea turned and sat on a stool, using the table between them as a shield. “Let me distract you, then,” she said. “Let me tell you the secret to killing dragons.”
Chapter Seven
Before the break of dawn, Cahill gathered his officers for a debriefing and to plan their new strategy of attack. Cahill had stayed up with Brea and gone over the maps, the princess pointing out ideal spots to ambush the beasts. But Cahill was no more than a few sentences into his explanation of the new form of attack when Pritchard stood.
“Your Highness,” Pritchard interrupted with his booming baritone voice. “With all due respect, this manner of attack you propose will prove futile.”
“Futile?” Cahill challenged. “Yesterday was futile. Today we try something different.”
Pritchard pointed to the markings on the map. “You’ve got the men all separated. They’ll make easy pickings for dragons.” Pritchard turned to look at each of the officers, asking for support. By the number of nods, he had it. “We all know the best way to down a dragon is with numbers. Ten men take out their wings. Five to chop the beast’s head off once it’s on the ground.” He waved at the map with contempt. “Two men here, three men there?” He shook his head. “We’ll be annihilated.”
The murmurs of agreement set Cahill’s teeth on edge. “I am your prince,” Cahill asserted. “I have—”
“And I,” Pritchard interrupted using his size to his advantage, “am your champion and an expert in slaying dragons.” Pritchard turned to the men who all nodded at him with a clear look of relief in their eyes. “Now,” Pritchard said, “here’s what we’re going to do.”
Cahill looked away. Pritchard was right. He had authority because Cahill was only a prince. If Cahill were king, things would be much different.
Frustrated and angry, Cahill returned to the tent to don his armor, only to find Brea gone. He couldn’t really blame her for leaving and he held little hope that she would return. Thus it was with a heavy heart that Cahill rode out with the troops. He glanced up at the cloudy sky. At least the day was cooler. The beasts would be sluggish without the sun to warm their cold blood. But they were still outnumbered. Horribly outnumbered. Cahill took one last look back, hoping to catch sight of Brea, but there was no sign of her, and Cahill tried not to think about the fact that he never had a chance to say goodbye.
Perhaps it was the weather, perhaps it was the hardened determination in the soldiers that made the battle more successful that day. Their casualties were still too high for Cahill’s liking, but much less significant than the day before. In addition, they’d managed to kill two dragons. This was due, in part, to the fact that fewer dragons had flown out to meet them that day. That knowledge did not necessarily bode well with Cahill. If the other dragons were not engaging in battle, where were they? How much destruction had they wrought?
To his great surprise and pleasure, Brea was inside the tent when Cahill returned, shoveling food into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in a week. The sight brought a faint smile to his face, and then Cahill frowned. “Ewph! It even smells like dragon in here.”
“Oh!” Brea turned and waved from her place at the table. “Sorry,” she said after swallowing a huge
mouthful. “That’s probably me.” She sniffed at her clothes. “Dragon is so hard to get out of wool.” From the sleeve of her tunic she withdrew three glimmering scales and tossed them onto the table.
Cahill dropped his sword and gingerly nudged the scales apart. Dragon scales were as individual as the beasts themselves. It was not hard to tell these scales came from three separate dragons—one ruby red, the other opalesque and the third glittered like a sapphire. As Cahill well knew, the window for dislodging a scale from a dragon was small indeed; for dragon scales only loosened in death and must be pulled before the monster burst into flames. Cahill looked at Brea with a new and sudden respect. She’d told him she was the best slayer, but he’d never fully believed her. Until now.
He collapsed onto the stool beside her. “Three?” Cahill said with false nonchalance. “Only three?” He chuckled, “Princess, you’re slipping.”
Brea smiled in pleasure and then pointed at her injured leg propped on some cushions under the table. “I know. I’m not quite up to standard. But if you could spare someone, I could use some help tomorrow.”
“I know just the man.”
Cahill hung from the tree, like Brea had taught him, trying to regulate his breathing, but finding it difficult with a glob of dragon shit sliding down his left cheek. This was soon forgotten, however, when the thundering hooves of an approaching horse alerted him to action. It was Brea riding Elrond hard, heading straight for him with a fire-breather right on her tail.
“Attack from above,” Brea had said. “Dragons never look up.”
Brea flew by, then Cahill let go of the branch, landing squarely straddling the beast’s neck. With one swift movement, he pulled his sword, lifted it high and drove it to the hilt through the black slit in the dragon’s yellow eye.
“Think of it as a bulls-eye,” Brea had instructed.
Sure enough, death came instantly. The dragon’s wings stretched taut in its final convulsion and the stinking body glided gently to the ground where Cahill was able to easily slide off. He jogged to join Brea and Elrond a safe distance away before the body went up in flames. “I can’t believe it!” he crowed. “It’s so easy.”