The Dragon Who Loved Me (16 page)

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Authors: G.A. Aiken

BOOK: The Dragon Who Loved Me
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Fearghus looked at the bucket in his claws. “I needed water.”
“But you didn’t drink and go. You drank and sat around.”
“For two seconds!”
“Look,” Gwenvael snarled at Fearghus, “we have maybe another week on this bloody tunnel. The sooner we finish it, the sooner we can kill the Irons and go home. And I’m not about to let you or anyone stop me from going home!”
Fed up with his brother’s whining—they were all missing their mates, not just him—Fearghus slapped his claw against Gwenvael’s chest and shoved him back. “You need to calm the battle-fuck down, brother.”
“And you need to get off your lazy ass and work!”
“Stop it! Stop it!” Éibhear got between them. “Brothers shouldn’t be fighting this way!”
Fearghus and Gwenvael stared at their very sincere baby brother; then they looked at each other. That’s when they started laughing and seemed incapable of stopping.
“What’s so bloody funny?”
“You,” Fearghus told him. “Telling
us
that we shouldn’t fight? After all that’s gone on between you and Celyn?”
“That’s different,” Éibhear growled.
Not really, but try to tell that to Éibhear the Blue.
Fearghus’s baby brother had been a right bastard toward Celyn since he found out Celyn had gone where Éibhear was too afraid to go with their niece Izzy. Of course Izzy wasn’t related to any of them by blood, but that didn’t matter. As far as Fearghus, Briec, and Gwenvael were concerned, Izzy was kin. But poor Éibhear didn’t know what to do with little Izzy. He was simply too young to sort out his feelings. So, instead, he beat up on his cousin. Constantly. And Celyn, being a right prat when in the mood, fought back.
Really, though, there was nothing to be done with either idiot. They were at that awkward stage for dragons. Not quite adults but no longer cute little hatchlings either.
But gods, it had been five years. Five years! Get over it already!
Briec entered the cavern and walked over to his brothers. “Anyone seen Keita?”
“Should we be looking for her?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking?” Fearghus wanted to know.
“Because I haven’t seen her. She is our sister.”
“She’s probably off poisoning someone. I wouldn’t worry.”
Briec grunted until he asked a scowling Gwenvael, “Why are you glaring at me?”
“I’m wondering why you’re all not
working
!”
“That is it.” Briec pulled his sword and Éibhear immediately grabbed him. “I’m cutting off the rest of that bastard’s tail!”
Chapter 15
 
By late afternoon they hadn’t gotten nearly as far as Rhona wanted. Going on foot was tedious and she was anxious to find Annwyl. If there was even a chance the royal hadn’t made it into the Provinces yet, Rhona might be able to get the wayward queen and drag her back to her troops. But if they kept moving like this, there was no hope that would happen.
“There’s some horses,” Vigholf offered while he chewed on
more
dried beef. At this rate, she’d have to find a vendor soon to replenish their supplies. If she were alone, she’d have enough beef to last her for at least a week. Maybe two. But with Sir Eats-a-Lot, she stood no chance that would happen.
“Those are wild horses. We’re better off buying tame ones,” she suggested.
“Buying them? Why?”
“They’ll be more docile, less chance of skittering off at the first scent of you.”
“But I’ve got this thing that Princess Morfyd gave me.”
“True, but I’m sure that can only do so—”
“And I doubt your docile horses can carry me. I’m not exactly light.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“We should try.” And off he went.
Gods! Dealing with the Lightning was like herding rats. A useless enterprise that would do nothing but make her annoyed.
“Wait,” Rhona called out while running to catch up.
“Shhhh. You’ll spook them.”
“
I’ll
spook them?”
“You stay back there.”
“You don’t know
anything
about horses except how to turn them on a spit.”
“But I have this talisman thing,” he boasted, suddenly falling in love with that bloody necklace. “It’ll
lure
the horses right to—”
Rhona stopped in her tracks, eyes wide, watching the enormous chestnut-colored stallion run right into and right
over
Vigholf.
Vigholf hit the ground hard, startled and clearly hurt.
“Gods-dammit! Demon beast!”
Rhona slapped her hand over her mouth to keep her laughter in. Especially when the stallion came charging back, knocking Vigholf back to the ground before he’d managed to get off his knees.
“Aaaaaargh!”
The horse came back again, but this time he began to pummel Vigholf with his hooves, pushing and shoving the Lightning away from the other horses.
“I don’t think he likes you,” Rhona informed her traveling companion, something that got her a lovely glare.
Finally getting his bearings, Vigholf knelt on one knee. The stallion turned, moments from raising himself up on his hind legs so he could pummel Vigholf some more with his front. But Vigholf slammed his hand against the horse’s chest.
“If you kill him,” she warned, “no horse will ever come near you again.”
“I’m not going to kill him,” Vigholf snarled. “I’m just going to teach the bastard a lesson.” Vigholf shoved the horse back and finally got to his feet. There were cuts on his face and bruises on his neck, and he briefly rubbed his chest, which made her worry some of his human ribs may be broken.
Vigholf raised his fists and Rhona wondered if the dragon had any sense at all.
“You can’t fistfight him!”
“He started it!”
To ensure that Rhona understood that, the horse slammed his hoof into Vigholf’s head. The Lightning snarled and punched back with a double tap, striking the beast in the snout and throat. Unlike the Tribesman’s smaller horse, however, this one wasn’t knocked unconscious, but he was definitely more irritated.
“By the gods of forge fires,” Rhona laughed. “Do we really have time for this?”
“If you want us to ride horses.”
“He’s never going to let you ride him now, you idiot!”
Vigholf lowered his bruised hands. “Why not?”
“Because he doesn’t like you. Can’t you tell?” She held up her hand before he could answer. “You’re a hardheaded Lightning male. Of course you can’t tell.”
“What does
that
mean?”
A tall white mare stood by Rhona’s side now and the two females looked at each other, shook their heads.
“I know,” Rhona told her. “Pathetic.”
 
 
Vigholf’s eyes narrowed when he saw that damn stallion sneer at him. He was sneering at him! At Vigholf ! A true Northlander and a commander of the Olgeirsson Horde Armies was being sneered at by a prey animal! The damn thing should be roasted by Vigholf’s lightning and torn to pieces by his comrades.
And what was the She-dragon doing? Chatting with the bloody stallion’s female!
“I don’t know what you expect,” Rhona told Vigholf. “You’ve probably terrified the poor thing.”
“He ran me over! How terrified could he be?”
“Well, you can stay here and fight if you like. I’ve got a ride.” She easily mounted the mare, using the mane as reins, and headed off.
“Can you believe those two?” Vigholf asked the stallion. “It’s like we don’t even exist.”
The horse shook his head, long mane tossed about.
“I’d let the ungrateful wench go off on her own, but she’s female and inherently weak. Who knows what will happen to her if I’m not there to protect her. And we can’t expect that mare to watch out for her either. Two females together? Could anything be so useless?”
Vigholf shrugged, sighed. “Guess we better follow them.”
The stallion nodded and took off.
“Wait! This would be much easier if you let me ride on your back, you difficult bastard!”
 
 
Once they had the horses, they made excellent time. Cutting fast across the Western Plains and reaching the forests that would lead them to the Western Mountains.
It was late when they finally decided to stop by a freshwater stream. And while Vigholf built a small pit fire and hunted down something to eat for dinner, Rhona found an apple tree and was able to feed the horses. When she returned to their campsite, Vigholf had already eaten his portion of the wild boar he’d slaughtered, but he’d left half of it for Rhona.
She walked over to the small pit fire and sat down hard with a sigh, her back resting against her travel bag. “They’re settled for the night,” she told him of the horses.
“Think they’ll take us as far as the Provinces?”
“Perhaps. They’re still wild, so they could decide they’re done with us whenever they’d like. There’s no point in trying to tame them, we’ll just hold on as long as we can.”
“How did you learn so much about horses?”
Rhona smiled, remembering. “My grandmother and grandfather. When you spend as much time as the Cadwaladrs do fighting as human, you need to learn how to ride and care for horses. My grandmother, Shalin, especially had a way. She used to breed the most amazing war horses.” She frowned a bit. “Although all the males seemed to loathe my grandfather.”
Rhona motioned to the carcass. “That’s mine, yeah?” Vigholf nodded and Rhona blasted the carcass with her flame. When it was cooked to her taste, she began to eat.
“You don’t eat your food raw?”
“Sometimes. But I prefer cooked. Besides, at least my face isn’t covered with blood.”
Vigholf touched his jaw, wincing when he felt the sticky remains of his meal. “Sorry.”
Rhona shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I like a dragon who enjoys his food.”
After Vigholf finished cleaning off his face and clothes, he picked up his weapons and began examining them.
“You’re like the triplets,” she said with a laugh.
“Short, adorable, and vicious on the battlefield?”
“No. You check your weapons, I’m assuming, for any damage from recent battle.”
“Do it every night.”
“That’s how I taught my siblings,” she said. “To always check every night. Most do, too.”
“You raised them all, didn’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“I see how they treat you and how they treat your mother.”
“Which is?”
“She’s the general and you’re their mother. A mother they adore.”
She shrugged, pretending not to enjoy hearing that. Seemed a little disloyal to her mum.
“My father give you that?” Rhona asked rather than respond to Vigholf’s observation.
Vigholf held up the good-sized steel warhammer.“Yes.” He shook his head. “Your father . . .”
“My father what?”
“He does amazing work, Rhona. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
She smiled, feeling a daughter’s pride. “I know.”
Holding the weapon between his hands, Vigholf said, “I saw you yesterday. At your father’s forge.”
She blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Well”—she shrugged—“it’s good to have some skill there in case you have to fix your weapon and there’s no blacksmith around.”
Vigholf gazed at her, smirked. “I
saw
you, Rhona.”
“You saw what?”
“You. Enjoying yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw the gleam in your eye. The excitement. You want to do what your father does, don’t you?”
The question struck her like a physical thing.
“Wait,” he said after a moment, “I didn’t mean to upset—”
“You didn’t. And you’re right. The first ninety years of my life, when I wasn’t raising my siblings, I was at my father’s side, working the small forge he’d built me near his own. Without a doubt those were the best days of my life.”
“Why did you stop?”
She blew out a breath and replied, “Cadwaladrs fight. They join Her Majesty’s Army. They become Dragonwarriors. They do
not
spend their lives
making
weapons for Dragonwarriors.”
“I see no shame in it. Plus your father does it.”
“My father’s not a Cadwaladr. He’s not even a Southlander.”
Vigholf sat up, gazing at her across the pit fire. “That’s right. Keita mentioned something about that.”
“He was hatched and raised deep in the Black Mountains, near the southern Borderlands.”
Vigholf thought a moment and asked, “The Black Mountains? Near the salt mines?”
“You’ve heard of them?”
“They’re volcanoes.”
“Aye.” She smiled. “Daddy doesn’t breathe fire, he spews lava.” She leaned in a bit and added, “So can I when I put me mind to it. But Mum hates when I do that. If I’m not careful, it sprays, ya see.”
“To be honest, I didn’t notice a difference between your father and any other Fire Breather.”
“The other dragon breeds can’t tell the difference either. All you lot scent is heat and fire. That’s mostly what lava is made of. Well, that and some melted rocks.” She smiled a little thinking of her father’s kin. “They’re not very friendly, my father’s kind. But they’ve built whole worlds under those mountains and are some of the best blacksmiths and glass blowers you’ll ever know. It’s the alchemy, you see. They’ve mastered it.”
“Alchemy?”
“Aye. For the Volcano dragons, it’s in their blood. Those with the proper training can change one metal to another.”
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Can you change one metal to another?”
“When I have to.”
He grinned. “Show me.”
“I’m not a dancing monkey.”
“Come on. Show me.”
She held her hand out. “Give me a coin.”
Vigholf tossed her a brass coin. Rhona placed it on the ground, cleared her throat, and unleashed a bit of lava at the coin.
“Ow!”
She cleared her throat again, but this time so she wouldn’t laugh. “Sorry, but I warned you it sprays,” she reminded him while he rubbed his eye.
Rhona held her hand over the coin and whispered the words only the best Dragonsmiths of the Black Mountains knew. The words her father had taught her before she could fly.
Grinning, she handed the coin back to Vigholf.
He stared at it. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean that’s it?” She snatched the coin and held it up for him to see. “I changed this from brass to glass.”
“Yeah . . . but I thought you’d change it into gold.”
She threw the coin at his head. “Glass is just as amazing.”
“Is glass even metal? I don’t think it is.”
“Look,” she cut in, annoyed, “I haven’t been taught how to change anything into gold. But I can do amazing things with steel and I can turn gold into—”

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