Dragon Maid (19 page)

Britta felt new respect for Arianrhod. The goddess was both ancient and wise, even though Jonathan’s father may have caught her at a weak moment. And mayhap a few other men as well. She disentangled herself from Tarika, hugged Jonathan briefly, and walked to the goddess’ side. “What do ye need from us?”

Arianrhod looked down her nose at the Morrigan. “About those comrades of yours…”

“I suppose they are long gone,” Lachlan sneered. “Neither Rhukon nor Connor were ever known for their courage.”

“Neither were their dragons.” Kheladin blew a huge gout of fire. It landed scant inches from the Morrigan’s battered boot toes. He stalked close enough to the Morrigan to touch her, but she stood her ground and eyed him balefully. “Bring them here,” Kheladin demanded.

“Who?” the Morrigan tossed her head.

“The dragons—or their mages,” Lachlan cried. “Bully idea, Kheladin.” He slapped the dragon’s neck.

“Why, thank you.” The dragon mock bowed.

“An excellent idea.” Tarika trumpeted. “I like it.” She turned her whirling eyes on the Morrigan and added slyly, “’Twould make you look better when Arianrhod drags you afore the other Celts.”

“It might at that.” The Morrigan squared her shoulders and morphed first into a lissome maid and then into three women. Tall, beautiful, and terrible, they stared at the group out of flat, dead eyes. Long, blonde hair eddied about shimmery blue robes.

“We would leave,” they said in unison.

“I bind you,” Arianrhod chanted. “You may leave, but to me you must return. Now and always until I release you.”

“We understand.” The air around the trio twinkled. In moments they were gone.

The Morrigan in all her forms…
Fear rocked Britta to her bones. One of the oldest tales had predicted when the Morrigan split into Badb, Macha, and Anann, destruction would follow in their wake. “Can aught be done?”

Arianrhod turned to her. “Och aye. Look about you, lass.” She spread her arms wide. “The best gift we could give mankind, and the Earth, would be to make certain this future never becomes primary.”

“I remember what was predicted when the Morrigan split,” Jonathan said slowly. “It wasn’t good.”

“Nay,” Lachlan concurred. “It certainly wasn’t. Kheladin, when Rhukon and Connor show up, what do ye have in mind.”

The copper dragon wound his neck around so he looked at Lachlan. “First, we immobilize them, and then we haul them to Fire Mountain.”

“It could work,” Tarika wrinkled her scaled brow, “but only if we separate dragons from mages and kill them.”

“They willna be immortal once the bond is broken,” Britta said.

Kheladin blew flames skyward. “Aye, ’twill certainly help with the killing part.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Help me understand. When Britta and Tarika separated, they did so willingly. Can you force a dragon and his mage apart?”

“I can do that. So can the Morrigan,” Arianrhod said, a grim smile in place. “Convenient she’s on no one’s side but her own.”

“Aye, and right now she’s motivated to save her own hide,” Britta cut in.

“That was a refreshing bit of strategy you used with the Morrigan.” Jonathan walked to Tarika’s side and stroked her green scales. “I didn’t think she’d fall for it.”

Arianrhod snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m ashamed I dinna think of it first. I caught her dead to rights. You notice she dinna bother denying she’d broken the covenant. We canna lie. ’Tisn’t in our makeup.”

“So when Tarika suggested tossing Rhukon and Connor under the bus,” Jonathan said thoughtfully, “the Morrigan jumped on it with both feet.”

“
Under the bus
?” Britta asked.

“Aye, what’s a bus?” Lachlan looked confused.

“It’s just an expression,” Jonathan clarified. “Sort of like forcing someone out onto a tree branch and sawing it off.”

“I understand. Ye box someone into where they have no other choices.” Britta beamed at him and then turned to Tarika. “Malik was your egg-mate…” She let her words trail off.

“Doona fear.” Tarika puffed fire and smoke. “It willna soften my heart toward him. He has been trouble ever since he hatched.”

“They’re returning,” Arianrhod cautioned.

“Get behind me,” Britta shouted to Jonathan and vaulted onto her dragon. “Once the fighting begins, we will strike from Tarika’s back.”

Jonathan straddled Tarika, settled Britta more firmly against his body, and wrapped his arms around her. God, but she felt good against him. And to be astride the dragon was little shy of amazing. Heat sifted into him through her scaled hide.

“Doona drop your guard.”
Britta focused her mind voice only for him; her body vibrated with tension.
“We are far from out of danger.”

“What are ye doing?” Fury made Rhukon’s voice shrill. His form wavered, faded, and then solidified about twenty feet away.

“Aye,” Connor squealed once he came into view. “We’re on your side. Remember?” He broke and tried to run, but Arianrhod flicked her fingers at him, and he sprawled on his ass. He still lay on his butt in the dirt when Badb, Macha, and Anann took form. The sisters stood behind the men. Jonathan saw the spell the trio wove, boxing them in from every side.

“On your feet.” Badb, Macha, and Anann spoke in unison. Jonathan wondered if they ever did anything but. Connor rose in a jerky, puppet-like fashion, as if he were attached to marionette strings; the women herded him next to Rhukon.

Jonathan eyed the two dragon shifters. Both men were ashen. Sweat beaded Rhukon’s pasty skin. Even his dark hair looked defeated. Connor’s dandified good looks, with his red-gold curls and sky blue eyes, were out of place in the austere landscape stretching around them. Both men wore formfitting battle leathers. Maybe they’d planned to return to the Middle Ages once they’d done the Morrigan’s bidding. Up close like this, they didn’t look like much of a threat, certainly not one potent enough have wreaked as much havoc as they had.

Rhukon straightened. His gaze moved from one of the Morrigan’s forms to the others. “I asked what you are doing. We have served you well—”

“Enough.” One of the sisters spat out the word.

Well, that answers one of my questions,
Jonathan thought.
They can speak independently.

“Ye were a fool to trust the Morrigan.” Tarika took a few steps closer. “She is on no one’s side but hers. Even amongst the Celts, she has never been known for collaboration. I would speak with your dragons. There is deep shame in their role in this.”

Arianrhod drew closer to the three sisters. “I will help. What you have wrought offends me.”

“We thank you.” The trio was back to speaking as a unit, but they didn’t respond to Arianrhod’s criticism.

Lachlan and Kheladin moved closer. “You may have noticed Britta and I are separate from our dragons,” Lachlan said.

Rhukon sneered. “Aye, I have been trying to puzzle out why ye broke the bond. Did your dragon tire of you?”

“Och, ye are such an ass,” Britta gritted from between clenched jaws. “Malik should be ashamed he bonded with you. I am ashamed for him.”

Rhukon rolled his eyes.

“We waste time.” Arianrhod dropped a hand onto Rhukon’s shoulder and began to chant. He squirmed to escape her grip, and then he batted at the goddess, trying to grab or punch her, but she controlled him easily. One of the trio did the same to Connor.

“They will force the bond into the open and then break it,” Britta said, not bothering with telepathic speech.

A panicked expression widened Rhukon’s eyes until white showed all around his pupils. He intensified his efforts to escape from Arianrhod. Malik formed in the air above him, black scales gleaming in weak sunlight. Preki, red scales ablaze as if lit from within, took shape behind Connor.

“Thank Dewi!” Preki invoked the Celtic dragon goddess. “I have wished to be free from this hapless human forever.”

“My feelings exactly.” Malik snorted fire. He bowed toward the Celts, head graceful on his sinuous stalk of a neck. “Thank you for freeing us. Thanks to you as well, sister and egg-mate.” He nodded toward Tarika.

“Nice try.” Tarika sneered. “As one of the First Born, I command you to stay where you are while we deal with the humans you were ill-advised enough to join your lives with.”

“We hear and obey.” Preki bowed his head in a twin gesture to Malik’s.

“They’re very beautiful,” Jonathan said into Britta’s ear.

“Doona let them fool you. Unlike the Celts, dragons lie all the time. They are far from stupid, and they doona wish to spend their life in a cage deep within Fire Mountain.”

Malik focused his whirling dark eyes and hissed at Britta.

“Ye willna do that again.” Tarika didn’t raise her voice, but command rang in it; Malik hooded his eyes.

“How would ye die, mage?” Arianrhod shook Rhukon as if he weighed nothing.

“I would rather not, my lady.”

“Too late. I give you two choices. Ye may try to redeem some pride and die in open combat against Lachlan or Britta—or me.”

Rhukon swallowed hard. Jonathan saw his throat working. “My second choice?” he croaked.

“I snap your neck where ye stand.”

Rhukon sucked in a breath, and then another. He spread his hands in front of him. “Surely ye’ll reconsider. One such as myself, a powerful mage with magic honed by centuries of practice—” His hands flew to his throat; he grappled with it, gasping for air. His skin developed a definite bluish tint. Arianrhod released him and shot an annoyed glance at the three sisters.

“I tire of his whining,” one of them said and voiced a guttural curse. Blood spewed from Rhukon’s nose and mouth, spattering Arianrhod. He crumpled to the ground, making gurgling noises as he choked to death.

“That may be.” Arianrhod grimaced and wiped gore off her face. “But he was my prisoner.”

All three sisters turned eerie, matching grins on Arianrhod. “The end result is all that counts,” they said as a unit. “Dead is dead.” Their grins widened until Jonathan had to look away from their ghoulish expressions, his stomach twisting in disgust.

Connor jerked away from the sister holding him. He threw wards around himself and raced across the hard-packed earthen plain. “He’s mine,” Britta’s voice rang out. With powerful wing beats, Tarika brought her abreast of Connor’s fleeing figure. Britta raised both hands. Power blazed from them, catching Connor midstride. Tarika added dragon fire to the mix, and the mage turned into a pillar of flame, screaming in agony.

The smell of burnt flesh was cloying. It stung Jonathan’s nose and throat, but he was glad the bastard was dead. It shocked him. He’d never hated anyone enough before to want them dead. The desperate state of the future changed all that. He’d still be alive fifty years from now, and he didn’t want to live in a place stripped of life.

He sensed bloodlust in both Britta and her dragon. It felt right. For the first time, he pictured himself a warrior and felt confident he could hold his own if the shit hit the fan and he had to defend home, hearth, family, and country.

Tarika half-hopped, half-flew, to Malik and Preki. “Kheladin,” she called. “I would have your assistance.”

“First Born.” Malik inclined his head. “Thank you for—”

“Be quiet, traitor, or I’ll have your tongue,” Tarika snarled. Malik’s jaws snapped shut. Preki’s nostrils flared. Smoke poured from them. Kheladin strode to Tarika’s side with Lachlan still astride him.

Arianrhod stood off to one side, a satisfied smile on her timeless face. Jonathan tapped into her mind, tentative at first, but she sucked him in and said,
“Nothing quite so satisfying as seeing your enemies fall—no matter who kills them. Never forget that…son.”

“I’m glad they’re dead. Look what they’ve done to the Earth.”
Loathing filled him. Rather than burying it as he would once have done, he embraced it.

“It wasna so much them as the Morrigan.”
Arianrhod moved her gold and silver gaze to the three sisters, who looked like carved statues. “Your triple form is no longer needed.”

Power blasted across the clearing. When it cleared, the crone was back with a smirk on her lined face. “Shall I dispatch the dragons next?”

“No!” Fire streamed from Tarika’s jaws. “Dragon justice isna yours to command.”

“I could help,” the Morrigan insinuated sweetly.

“The best help from you would be to mend the damage you’ve done to Earth,” Arianrhod snapped.

The Morrigan shrugged. For a moment, she took her crow form and then flickered back to human. “Sorry. I destroy. Creation isna within my powers.”

Arianrhod huffed. “Mayhap ye could work on developing some new ones.”

Tarika nudged Kheladin. “Will ye accompany me to make certain these two return to Fire Mountain?”

The copper dragon inclined his head. “’Twould be an honor.”

Malik shook his head until his shiny black scales clanked against one another. “What if I doona wish to go?”

“Ye have no choice…egg-mate,” Tarika hissed.

“Aye,” Kheladin trumpeted. “Look at the destruction ye’ve wrought. Ye canna be trusted to run free.”

“Ye gave our mages a choice.” Preki spoke for the first time. Compulsion ran beneath musical words.

Tarika bared double rows of teeth. “Would ye rather a fight?” At the red dragon’s nod, she spat into the dirt. “Ye realize Kheladin and I are immortal. Ye are not.”

“I would prefer an honorable death than millennia shut up in the bowels of Fire Mountain.”

“Hmph.” Malik snorted fire. “Speak for yourself.”

Tarika sucked in a noisy breath. “’Twill be one way or the other. The same for both of you. Fire Mountain or combat.”

“Ye always were nothing but a troublemaker.” Malik spun, using his tail for a balance point, and blasted Preki with fire.

Obviously taken by surprise, the red dragon yelped as fire raked his scales. Jonathan figured fire couldn’t hurt the dragon. He was probably more shocked his companion had turned on him than anything else.

“What do ye want to do?” Britta asked Tarika.

“Let us see how this plays out.” The green dragon crossed her forelegs across her chest. “Mayhap ’twill be one less to worry about.”