Last Dragon Standing (49 page)

She was up on the long table and over it in seconds, running out the Great Hall front doors.

Talaith saw the two Lightnings coming from around the building.

“Vigholf!” she yelled. “Meinhard!”

They both stopped and watched her dash by and out the side exit. She was near the forest that would take her into the west field.

“Mum!”

She saw her daughter running toward her—saw what was behind her.

Nearly on her. Men that were no longer men. And that meant only one thing.

Kyvich.

“Don’t stop!” Talaith yelled at her. “Go!”

Mother and daughter charged past each other, Talaith pulling out the blade she always kept tied to her thigh. She cut the throat of one mad bastard, leaped onto a nearby boulder, and shoved off with one foot, slashing her blade across the throat of another. When she landed on the ground, she kept running, trusting her daughter could take care of herself.

Izzy did as her mother ordered and kept running. She ran until she cleared the trees, and that’s when the first one slammed into her from behind, flipping them both over.

He caught her by the hair, yanking her head to the side and wrapping his mouth around the side of her neck. Teeth dug in and bit down. She screamed out, her hand reaching for the blade she kept tucked into her boot.

She had her fingers on the handle when the man was pulled away from her, his brains dashed when a Lightning in human form slammed him to the ground.

Izzy released her knife and got to her feet.

“Izzy!” She looked up as Meinhard tossed an ax to her. She caught it, spun, and hacked through the crazed male closest to her. She stopped, swung 325

the blade up, and tore through another from his bowels to his neck. Then she hefted the ax and ran back into the forest.

She saw her cousin and screamed, “Get the kin. Get them all!

Meinhard! Vigholf! Follow me!”

Morfyd crouched in front of the keening warrior at her feet. “Did you really think you’d get away with this?” she asked. “Did you really think I’d let you do this to my sister?”

She heard someone calling to her, someone yelling at her to stop, but she couldn’t. Not after seeing what Elestren had done to Keita. How she’d hurt her. How she’d been moments from killing her.

“Tell me, cousin, what does it feel like?” she asked in a whisper.

“What does it feel like when I turn the blood in your veins to shards of glass?” Morfyd squeezed her fist, making the shards inside her cousin bigger. “Does it make you want to scream? The way you tried to make my sister scream?” She caught Elestren’s green hair and yanked her head up, bellowing in her face, “
Does it hurt?
” She watched the human queen tear through enemy men that her sisters, trained in the art, had broken and tormented until they became nothing more than attack beasts. The loyal dog at her side, however, was her companion and partner. She protected him as she protected herself and her horse. But these men were of no concern to her and allowed her to wear down the Blood Queen of Dark Plains.

A head flipped past, and Storm picked it up in his fangs, shaking it before offering it to her horse, Death-bringer, so they could play tug. They loved playing tug together.

“Ásta,” her second command, Bryndís, called to her. “A Nolwenn.” Surprised, because they’d had no warning, Ásta watched the Nolwenn witch charge into the field. She had a blade and nothing else.

Ásta growled a little, Death-bringer pawing the ground restlessly beneath her.

“Hulda,” Ásta said softly. “Kill it.”

Hulda grinned and tightened her legs, her horse knowing exactly what to do.

Nolwenns were the bane of the Kyvich. The why of that fact had been lost to memory a millennia ago, but the hatred remained.

The queen had nearly finished with the males, an outcome Ásta cared little about.

“Unleash the second wave,” she said, her voice never going above a 326

very soft call.

Bryndís lifted her arm. “Second wave!” she cried out. “Forward!” Kyvich who had not yet earned their seats screamed and charged forward on foot, their weapons at the ready.

Annwyl had yanked her sword from the body at her feet when she heard the call. She turned and watched the women charging her. About twenty, but unlike the bodies littering this field, these females weren’t crazed, uncontrollable, broken humans. They were like her. Well-trained and only as crazy as necessary to get the job done.

The first who reached her ducked the fist aimed for her face and went up and under until she was behind Annwyl, slamming her fist into Annwyl’s kidney.

Screaming in pain and rage, Annwyl turned and swung her sword.

Their swords met, slamming into each other with such force, the power of it radiated down Annwyl’s arm. Another blade swung at her, and Annwyl leaned back, catching hold of the hand attached to that sword. She held the two females, teeth clenched, muscles straining.

More came for her, and she waited until the last second before she lifted her legs, kicking the one in front of her. Her legs swung back down, and Annwyl dropped to the ground, her legs spread wide, her hand still gripping the sword arm of one woman and her own blade keeping the blade of another at bay.

She yanked the arm she held and twisted, breaking it in several places.

The woman dropped to one knee, and Annwyl used her elbow to shatter the bones of the right side of her face.

The woman fell back, screaming but not dead. Annwyl pulled a blade she had tucked into the back of her leggings and shoved it into the lower belly of the other female. That one dropped, her blade still in her hand and blood pouring out of her wound.

Annwyl had no doubt she’d be back on her feet in seconds; the other one with the shattered face was already halfway up.

Rolling to her feet, Annwyl raised her blade again, but a large hand from behind her caught hold and twisted. Annwyl went with it, not wanting her wrist to be broken. She dropped the blade she held and turned her body in the same direction that her arm was twisted. She fell to her knees and came around until she faced her opponent. She took her free hand, balled it into a fist, and rammed the bitch in the groin until she heard bone break.

Teeth gritted, the woman dropped to her knees, and Annwyl head-butted her.

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She pulled her arm away and stood, shaking off the pain.

Izzy charged straight for her, so she stepped to the side. Izzy flew past, colliding into three females who’d been coming up behind Annwyl.

The two Northland dragons flew in, landing hard in front of Annwyl, their backs to her. Vigholf unleashed bolts of lightning at the witch’s leader.

Smiling, the cold, tattooed bitch raised her hand, and the lightning strikes broke into pieces, dropping to the ground. Stunned, the dragons could only stare, and the woman sniffed in disgust and flicked her hand. As if shoved apart by gods, the two dragons flew into the surrounding forest, mowing down trees and creating a new path for those who needed to get through.

Annwyl realized then she didn’t stand a chance.

Of course…that had never mattered before.

“What have you done?” Dagmar demanded of the god.

“Why do you assume I’ve—”

Dagmar slammed her fist against the table, truly feeling like her father at that moment—he’d be proud.

Eir eyed her coldly. “Perhaps, human, you forget who I am.”

“Woman, I don’t give a battle-fuck who you are. Tell me what you did.”

Dagmar heard panting right by her ear and turned in time to get an enthusiastic lick across the face. Then she understood. Eir had done nothing.

“Nannulf,” she said to the wolf-god who adored her. “Can you show me what you’ve done?”

Nannulf charged for the door, and Dagmar followed.

The last thing she heard from Eir that day, “I’ll expect an apology, you rude cow!”

Ásta knew when the queen realized she didn’t stand a chance. When she knew she’d die this day. As would the two females fighting by her side.

She knew they’d all die and there was nothing she could do about it.

Yet the human queen retrieved her sword and went back to work.

Fighting those still considered novices by the Kyvich Elders.

“Fire Breathers,” Bryndís warned her calmly. She knew how Ásta hated to be yelled at. What was the point? When they started to panic in battle, all would be lost.

“Shield,” Ásta ordered.

Bryndís nodded at their left-flank unit. As one, the women raised their left hands, and the Fire Breathers leading the charge were the first who 328

slammed into that shield created by the Kyvich. Snouts breaking, blood spurting, they flipped back and crashed into the ones behind them.

Ásta again focused on the defeated queen—who didn’t fight as if defeated.

Realizing that the rage all the siblings had in one form or another had hold of her sister, Keita pulled away from Ragnar and her brother, and ran-limped her way across the cavern until she crouched beside her sister.

“No, Morfyd. Let her go.”

Elestren began to cough up blood. And Keita was horrified to see there were pieces of glass in it.

“Please!” Keita gripped her sister’s face between her claws, forced her to look her in the eyes. “Stop it.” She shook her. “Please, Morfyd, let her go.

For me, let her go!”

Morfyd unclenched her claw, and Elestren’s head slammed back to the ground. Morfyd’s gaze roamed around the cavern as if she didn’t know where she was.

Panting, Keita pressed her snout next to her sister’s. “Breathe,” she whispered to her. “Just breathe.”

Morfyd swallowed. “I’m…I’m all right. I’m all right.” Keita leaned back, searched her sister’s eyes. The rage was gone, and the Morfyd that Keita knew was back.

Talaith threw a ball of flame at the horse charging toward her. It reared up, and its rider swung off, landing on her feet. She raised both her hands, pulled them back to garner energy from the land around her, then shoved them forward. The power of the blow slammed into Talaith, and she flew back.

She knew she headed for the trees. That the probability of her slamming head or neck first into some hearty oak was quite high.

She called up a charm she’d been working on, thought it, used it, and power Talaith had never known flooded through her, rampaging into her system. Talaith stopped her body’s uncontrollable movement, suspending herself in midair. Then she rose up, her body hovering over land as if she had wings. The Kyvich stared up at her, enraged, and screamed.

Talaith screamed back and raced down to meet her. She collided into the witch, their bodies smashing to the ground and tearing across it from the momentum. By the time they rolled to a stop, they were in a pit of their own making and swinging at each other with nothing but their fists and the age-old hatred of their people.

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They’d gotten her lovely ax away from her, but instead of using the many weapons they had on them to finish her off, they fought her with bare hands. That was fine by Izzy. She always did love a good bare-knuckle brawl.

She ducked a punch to the face, but not the punch to her lower back. It dropped her to her knees, but she put her hands down on the ground and brought her leg back, kicking someone in the chest. She rolled forward and up, ducked another punch to her head, and retaliated with a punch to a shoulder. Bone shattered on impact and the female’s body jerked back, but the witch used the momentum to turn in the opposite way, the back of her fist slamming into Izzy’s face. The blow sent Izzy flipping into someone else who caught hold of her by the throat and took Izzy to the ground.

Izzy swung at the hands that held her down, kicked out at the legs near her. But the one holding the blade over her chest…Izzy couldn’t avoid her.

She didn’t call for her mother or for Annwyl. They had their own fights, and she’d die knowing she had done what she could to protect her queen.

They slammed her arms down, held her legs pinned to the ground.

“Do it, bitch!” Izzy screamed, blood spitting on those who held her.

“Do it!”

“As ya like.” The witch raised the blade above Izzy’s chest, and even though Izzy wanted to cringe and look away, she didn’t.

The blade swung down, and Izzy pulled her right arm one more time, taking the witch who held her by surprise and yanking her over Izzy’s chest.

She was determined to take at least one of these crazed bitches with her.

“Fuck!” the startled witch cried out.

“Hold, Kyvich!” someone else called out, and the blade stopped inches from the witch’s back. She let out a breath and dropped on Izzy.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, and Izzy couldn’t agree more.

Ragnar watched as Morfyd helped her sister up, but he took Keita in his arms and nodded at Morfyd. “I’ve got her.” Morfyd nodded, patted his arm.

Ragnar smiled down at Keita. “You do manage to find piles of shit to fall into everywhere you go, don’t you?”

Keita laughed at that. “Some might say.”

“What do you want us to do with this lot?” Briec asked, still blocking the exit with Gwenvael.

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“We can’t let them go,” Keita said and when her brothers smiled and reached for their swords, “No, no! We can’t kill them either!”

“Dammit.” Briec shoved his sword back in its sheath, and Gwenvael seemed to pout.

Keita looked at Fearghus. “We need Ghleanna. She can take care of this lot. Because it’s time I told all of you the truth about what’s been going on.”

“What are you thinking?” Ragnar asked.

Reaching up, she wiped the blood from her snout. “I’m thinking we’ve run out of time.”

Ragnar gently kissed her. “I think you’re right.” Blood covering her; her knuckles torn, battered, and broken; her nose shattered; at least one shoulder no longer in its socket; both eyes swollen along with her lips and chin; and nearly every inch of her bruised, Annwyl watched the witches who’d been fighting her back away. They kept backing up until seven of the mounted witches rode past them, the one that she’d pegged as leader in the middle.

Dressed in animal skins and with jewelry made of silver, steel, and animal parts, they truly looked like Ice Land barbarians.