Last Dragon Standing

by G. A. Aiken

  “I didn’t know females could fight like that,” he admitted. “Sure she doesn’t have some demon in her?”

  “She doesn’t.” And Ragnar would know. “It just seems like she does.”

  Vigholf looked up to see two females approaching them. One was a very young dragoness, the other a human female, her skin brown like Lady Talaith. Beautiful like Lady Talaith as well, making him think they were of similar bloodline.

  “That was amazing,” the human said. “Do you think you could teach us some of that?”

  “Some of what?” he asked, a little amused.

  She reached down and picked up his battle ax. He’d used it for a bit with the queen, but she’d gotten it away from him early on. Of course, the queen had only managed to knock it from his hands. When she’d tried to pick it up later, she’d struggled with the weight of it so much, she’d tossed it down and dove for Meinhard’s dropped sword instead. Yet this…child hefted it in her hands with what seemed to be ease.

  “Teach us how to use battle axes. We haven’t gotten to that yet.”

  “Izzy’s still on spears and swords,” the dragoness said. “She’s a bit bored.”

  He watched the human swing his favored weapon in short arcs with one hand. “This is nice, isn’t it?” She stopped, blinked up at Ragnar. “Don’t I know you?”

  “Uh…”

  Princess Keita appeared, popping up, it seemed, out of nowhere. “Excuse us a moment.” She grabbed the human by the collar and pulled her a few feet away.

  “What’s going on?” Vigholf asked his brother.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “Only a little.”

  “Ohhhhh.” The human looked over at them, cringed. Sorry, she mouthed at Ragnar.

  “There’s absolutely nothing subtle about that one, is there?”

  Ragnar shook his head. “Not really.”

  The princess and the human walked back up to them, and the human held out Vigholf’s ax to him. He took it.

  “Nice weapon,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  He waited for her to push to learn more about it, but she stood there saying nothing and wiping her hands on her leggings.

  “Well,” the princess said, “why don’t we all—” Her head snapped up, and she suddenly blurted, “Shit. Shit!” Then she dove behind Ragnar.

  “Should I ask what you’re doing?”

  “Avoiding some…uh, people.”

  “Male people?” And Vigholf noted how annoyed his brother sounded.

  “Don’t get that tone with me, warlord.” Tugging on Ragnar’s shirt, she made him turn a bit so that he continued to block her. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’m going to make a run for it.”

  “Where are you going?”

  But the princess had already lifted her skirts and took off running, heading toward the main town.

  “Oy! Foreigners!” Sneering, all three of them looked at the human male soldiers standing on the other side of the rail, several holding flowers. “Where’s the lovely princess then?” one of them asked. “We just saw her.”

  Meinhard, trying to work out the newest pain in his leg, suggested, “I say we kill ’em all.”

  “Ooh!” the young She-dragon suggested. “Use the battle ax!”

  “Or!” the human cut in, shoving the She-dragon aside and focusing on the soldiers, “You lot can piss off.”

  “No one’s talking to you, muscles.”

  And the young female lowered her head, raised her eyes, and balled her hands into fists. It was enough.

  “All right, all right,” the man said, raising his hands. “No need to get nasty.”

  The men walked off, and the girl faced the Lightnings again, smiling. “All talk, that one. But if you have any more problems, you just let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

  And Vigholf was torn between laughing and believing she would take care of it. Quite well, as a matter of fact.

  “I better track Keita down,” Ragnar finally said, sighing a little.

  “Suddenly the princess is your responsibility, brother?”

  “Sure there’s nothing you need to tell us, cousin?” Meinhard asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You lying?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  He walked off, leaving Vigholf and Meinhard alone with the two young females.

  “I’m Branwen,” the young She-dragon said. “This is Izzy. She ain’t blood, but she’s me cousin.”

  Too complicated. These Fire Breathers lived lives that were simply too complicated.

  “Good for you then,” Vigholf said, hefting his ax onto his shoulder. “Me and Meinhard train every day at dawn,” he told the pair. “And we’ll be training here in this ring as long as we’re at Garbhán Isle. What you do with that information is down to you.”

  They headed back to the castle and perhaps some ointments for what Vigholf was sure would be many aches and pains.

  Dagmar placed the strip of leather, looking like a piece torn off a sword belt, onto the long table covered with maps and correspondence from the different legion commanders.

  “It could have been there for years,” Fearghus said, his gaze straying to his mate. Annwyl stood by the window, her back to them, arms folded over her chest, staring out.

  “It appears relatively new,” Dagmar said. Then, with a sigh, she walked over to a small trunk she kept in the room. She kept important correspondence or important but not-often-used maps and items in there. She was the only one with a key; none of the dragons bothered to ask for one since they could tear the trunk open without it. She pulled out the keys she kept around her girdle and unlocked it, removing several items from inside. She placed those on the desk alongside the newest piece. Two were strips of leather, emblems burnt into them, another was part of a necklace, and another was a gold coin. All received from Addolgar in the last few months.

  Fearghus and Morfyd moved in closer, taking a look. Fearghus’s cold black gaze lifted to Dagmar’s. “You’re just telling us of this now?”

  “There was no reason to alert anyone until I was sure. I have my people out getting as much information as they can, and Ghleanna and Addolgar are on top of the matter.”

  “And?”

  Dagmar dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk. “There’s still nothing definite. No witnesses. No sight of the Sovereigns before or after the attacks. Nothing.”

  “But this?” Morfyd asked, gesturing to the bits Dagmar had collected.

  “Evidence it could be, but it’s not exactly damning.”

  “We can send more legions into the west to look for them. To find out if it is the Sovereigns, and act accordingly.”

  Fearghus, his head down, said, “It’s not the Sovereigns we need to find.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s been said,” Dagmar explained, “that the human Sovereign forces are no more than puppets for their dragon masters.”

  “The Irons,” Fearghus filled in.

  Morfyd shook her head. “Do you really think Thracius would dare move on us?”

  “Outright?” Fearghus shrugged. “Doubtful. But to have Thracius’s human attack dog, Counsel Laudaricus and the Sovereign legions, wear away at our troops? Keep us busy, splintering our legions, while we look away from what’s going on—perhaps right in front of us? That I can see, sister.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He pointed at the map he had on the table. “Fearing an eventual attack by the Sovereigns after discovering all these conveniently placed bits of evidence, we move all our human troops here”—he pointed at the Western Mountains—“and send our dragon units over the mountains and into the valley territories between the Western and Aricia Mountains.”

  “All right.”

  Dagmar leaned forward and pointed at the northern portion of the map. “While the iron dragons sweep through the Northlands and Outerplains and wipe this land clean before any of the troops can make i
t back.”

  Morfyd stared down at the map until she suddenly announced, “Mother knows.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Why else would she bring Ragnar here? After two years, his war almost over? She’s up to something.”

  Dagmar placed her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with her hands. “Another war would put her in a better position with the Elders, but that doesn’t mean she’s actively working to make a war with the Sovereigns happen.”

  Morfyd began to pace. “The Sovereigns are not like the Northlanders, you know. Splintered by terrain and old grudges. The entire Sovereign Empire, dragon and human, all bow before that bastard Thracius. He rules with an iron claw, and if Mother lets this play out until the Elders have no choice but to declare war…it might be too late.”

  “Then we don’t wait for that,” Fearghus said. “Human and dragon legions attack first. Before the Sovereigns’ or Mother’s plans has a chance to play out.”

  “No.”

  Fearghus’s eyes briefly closed at his mate’s softly spoken, but adamant, proclamation.

  “Annwyl—”

  “No, Fearghus. That’s what they want. For us to leave the children.”

  “It’s not like we’d be leaving them alone in a field to fend for themselves.”

  She faced them all, and Dagmar couldn’t help but wince when she saw the human queen’s expression. It was…fixed.

  “I’ll not leave them. I can’t make it any plainer.”

  They watched her walk out, none of them jumping when the door slammed behind her. The queen was a notorious door-slammer.

  “I’ll talk to her,” Fearghus said.

  “You’ve been talking to her, brother. We all have. She won’t hear us.”

  “She dreams,” Dagmar said, telling them what had been said among the servants. “She dreams someone is coming for the babes.”

  “And?” Fearghus pushed. “Is she right?”

  Dagmar and Morfyd exchanged glances before Dagmar admitted, “Yes. We think she may be.”

  “There will always be someone coming after the babes,” Fearghus said, taking up the spot his mate had left. He even crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the window. “Everyone wants them dead.”

  “Trust me, Fearghus, if what Annwyl has been dreaming, if the details I’ve received are correct, then she has good reason to be concerned. We all do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ragnar was heading down a side street when he saw the pub. Although it wasn’t the pub that caught his attention, but the men going into it. Practically running.

  He sighed. Honestly. The things he was reduced to.

  He stepped into the pub, moving past tables, punters, and barmaids until he reached a small table in the back. That’s where he found Her Majesty holding court, human males surrounding her.

  “Lord Ragnar!” she cheered when he stood in front of the table, towering over the other males. “Gentlemen, this is Lord Ragnar. Lord Ragnar, these are my gentlemen.” She giggled at that, and he debated pulling her out by her hair. But that sounded too much like something his father would do—making it impossible for him to do the same. “What brings you here, my lord?”

  “I’ve been looking for you. Thought you could return with me to the fortress.”

  “But I’m having such fun,” she said, raising the pint in her hand. Gods, how much ale had she had since she’d run off? It hadn’t taken him that long to track her down.

  “It’s time for your fun to end, I’m afraid.”

  “But I don’t want it to end,” she pouted, and damn her for looking so adorable while doing so.

  “I don’t care—”

  “Why don’t you leave off?” one of the men snapped. “Just go—”

  Ragnar held up his hand in front of the man’s face, silencing him and the entire pub with a thought.

  “Don’t annoy me, my lady. Just come along.”

  Oblivious, Keita said, “But I don’t want to go.”

  She was testing him, and he didn’t like it.

  Glancing at the man who’d been so protective of her, Ragnar ordered, “Bark like a dog.”

  And when he did, Keita’s eyes grew wide, her mouth dropping open.

  “Stop it,” she told him.

  Ragnar glanced at the man to his right. “Quack like a duck.”

  “Ragnar!” she squeaked over the quacking and barking. “Stop it!”

  Curious, he asked, “Why do you care what I do to them?”

  “Because what you’re doing is wrong. Can’t you see that?”

  He could; he was just surprised that she could see it as well.

  “What do you do that’s so different from what I do?”

  “You must be joking.” And he realized she wasn’t drunk at all.

  “Not really. These human males would crawl across broken glass to entertain you.”

  “Of their own free will. I force no one to do anything and would you stop the quacking and barking!”

  “Stop.”

  They did as ordered, and Keita’s eyes narrowed. “Can you do the same to me?”

  He laughed. “Dragons are never that easy, princess. But lusty men have to be the easiest of all.”

  “Which you’re saying is my fault?”

  “You certainly don’t help.” He held his hand out to her. “Now, are you coming, or should I have them start mooing?”

  Keita stood and walked around the table. She took the hand he held out to her, but wouldn’t move. “Release them, Ragnar.”

  “As you wish.”

  He did as she bade, everyone returning to what they’d been doing without missing a beat.

  The men, realizing Keita was leaving, begged her to stay.

  “I’m sorry, all. I must go. But I’ll be back.” She let Ragnar lead her to the front door and outside. “That was mean!” she said, snatching her hand away.

  “So is your testing me.”

  “I was not.”

  “Weren’t you? To see what I’d do with you surrounded by so many men?”

  “I do not call them to me. And do you really think I’m that petty?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  Keita gasped, outraged, and pulled her fist back to assault him with one of her weak pummelings when her sharp gaze caught sight of a blonde wearing a dark blue cape and moving quickly down the street. “It’s her!”

  “It’s who?”

  “Come.”

  “Pardon?”

  “We can’t let her get away!” She caught his hand and tried to drag him with her. When he only gawked at her, refusing to be moved until she told him what was going on, she dropped his hand, lifted the skirt of her gown, and followed the woman.

  Who knew that sleeping late would cause Éibhear to miss a second fight between Annwyl and Vigholf and Meinhard? And this time he wouldn’t have had to worry about stopping them and possibly losing his head in the process or being responsible for a small territorial incident because it had all taken place in the training ring. But according to the servants who’d brought him something to eat earlier, he’d missed quite the battle. Typical.

  But he was home and he was glad to be.

  He walked down the stairs and into the Great Hall. No one was around; even the servants off doing something else, somewhere else. It didn’t help that he was bored and still feeling the effects of all that wine from last night. Still, he’d had quite the good time at the pubs with a few of his male cousins and several of the barmaids.

  He debated what to do now, and decided that heading into town would work. He could stop by the booksellers and see what was new and interesting—which would probably be everything since it had been ages that he’d purchased a new book. The Northlanders were not big on books and on very few occasions did he get a chance to stop by a bookseller or library. And gods, when he suggested it, he only got blank stares from the others.

  That did sound perfect, though, didn’t it? A good book and a hearty m
eal at one of the local pubs.

  Checking his pocket for coin—he’d stolen some from Briec’s room, it’s not like his brother needed so much—Éibhear set off.

  He walked outside and immediately winced from the light searing his brain. It didn’t deter him from his goal, but it reminded him that drink was not always his friend. He simply didn’t handle it as well as his kin.

  Taking his time and only able to keep one eye open, he walked down the Great Hall steps. As soon as his feet touched the cobblestones of the courtyard, he turned toward the side exit and started off.

  “Hello, Éibhear.”

  Éibhear stopped and looked back at the stairs. He’d thought he’d passed someone on the steps, but he’d been so focused on just getting down them without throwing up, he hadn’t really paid much mind.

  Squinting, he leaned in a bit to get a better look. Gods, he might never drink again at this rate.

  “Uh…hello.”

  “Gods…have I changed that much in two years that my own uncle doesn’t recognize me?”

  Éibhear’s eyes opened wide—both of them—and he ignored the pain doing so caused as he stared at her. “Izzy?”

  Her smile, as always, lit up her face and his world. He hated her for that smile. On those long, lonely patrols in desolate Northland territory, it had been that smile he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  “How…how are you?”

  “Fine. Found out my parents and entire family are”—and this she yelled up at the castle walls—“complete and utter liars!”

  “Oh, get over it already!” Talaith yelled back from somewhere inside.

  “But other than that,” Izzy went on, “I’m fine. How about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “The Northlands have treated you well, I see. You’re bigger. All over.”

  Don’t say it. Do not say it!

  “Lots of hard work. How’s army life?” he asked quickly to change the subject.

  “I’m still in formation,” she complained, rolling her eyes.

  “I move trees. A lot.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m sure in a few more years we’ll both be forces to be reckoned with.”