Annwyl took it, examined it, and her expression changed almost instantly.
“Where was this found?” she asked, no longer the loving aunt but the demanding queen.
“A small town near the Western Mountains. The town had been attacked by barbarians a few days before. By the time we got word asking for help, it was too late.”
“Any survivors?”
Izzy shook her head. “No. It looked as if they killed everyone. Men, women, even children. If they took any as slaves, we couldn’t tell.” Annwyl’s hand closed tight around what she held. “I’m glad you’re back, Izzy,” Annwyl said again. “We’ll talk later, yes?”
“Aye.”
“Good. Good.” Annwyl motioned to Fearghus before starting off to the castle. He followed, stopping long enough to kiss Izzy on the cheek and give her a hug.
Before Annwyl disappeared around the corner, she called out, “Oy!
Barbarian. Witch. We need you two as well.”
Morfyd, with a nod to the Lightnings, headed off after Annwyl, and Dagmar let out a weighty sigh before limping off after them all.
“I need to get her into better shape,” Gwenvael muttered. “She’s as weak as a kitten.”
“Only physically,” Keita clarified.
Gwenvael chuckled and stepped in front of Izzy, hands on hips.
“What?” he demanded of his niece. “You return and show me no love whatsoever?”
“I’m not sure I’m talking to any of you.” Izzy folded her arms over her chest. “In none of the letters I received did any of you tell me about Rhi.”
“Who’s Rhi?”
“Rhianwen,” Keita said. “You idiot.”
Focusing back on his niece, Gwenvael said in confusion, “But I didn’t write you at all. So that should alleviate me of any accusations of being a liar.” When everyone only stared at him, “Well, it should!” Vigholf ignored the hand held out to him and managed to get to his feet on his own. He did, however, take the jug of water his brother offered.
“You all right?” Only Ragnar asked that question after a fight. But this time, finishing off half the water and handing it to his cousin, Vigholf didn’t think Ragnar’s question was out of order. No, not this time.
“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 it 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.”