by G. A. Aiken
“It’s all right. The storm will pass. Sssssh.”
Gods, the female really did have a way with horses. Something he found completely fascinating. Especially since he did get the feeling that she had, on more than one occasion, eaten horseflesh. But the animals still seemed to like her.
Then again, Vigholf liked her too.
“They’ll be fine,” she said to him while smiling at the horses. “This bad storm just spooked them a—”
The horses suddenly reared, and Vigholf grabbed Rhona around the waist, yanking her out of the way. Good thing too because the horses bolted, running back the way they’d come.
“What the hells was that?” he asked her.
“I don’t know.” Rhona pulled away from him. “Something scared them and it wasn’t the storm.” She circled around him. “I knew we shouldn’t have come in here. I knew . . .”
She was behind him when her words faded out and Vigholf turned around to find her staring off into another dark passageway. “Rhona?”
“Shit!” Rhona screamed before she shoved him toward the exit. “Run!”
She took off, heading the same direction the horses went, but it slithered out of the darkness, moving faster than anything Vigholf had ever seen, and cut her off.
Rhona fell back, falling on her ass. And it reared up on its tail, leather wings spreading out from its scaled body to block the exit. It hissed, the sound bouncing off the walls.
Its head reared back and Vigholf rushed forward, grabbing Rhona by the neck of her chain-mail shirt and yanking her up. They ran seconds before a stream of green venom hit the ground where Rhona had been, sizzling as it burned into the rock.
Deciding he had to protect the female, Vigholf turned, lightning sparking off him as he began to shift.
“No!” Rhona grabbed his hand and yanked him after her. “Don’t shift.”
“Why the hells not?”
“You’ll never fit!” At first he didn’t know what she was talking about, but as they charged into narrow passageway after narrow passageway, the thing easily slithering behind them, he knew Rhona was right. These caverns and passageways had not been carved out for dragons to stand and fight in, but for them to die, along with anything else unlucky enough to find its way in here.
If Rhona had the time, she’d stop and kick herself. Because she should have been paying attention. If she had, she would have caught that distinct scent or seen the slither marks on the cave’s dirt floor or simply known that they weren’t alone. That like most of these low caves in the west, this wasn’t empty. It had a low-cave wyvern. A gods-damn wyvern! And the ones this far west were the worst of the lot.
Her father said the wyverns resented dragons because dragons could speak, could shift to human, and had arms and legs. Then again, dragons were higher beings. They weren’t snakes that had lived so long their bodies had lengthened enough to wrap themselves around castles several times and had sprouted wings.
But the venom . . . the venom was the worst part of it. No matter the breed of dragon, there were none who could stop the wyvern venom from melting the scales off their bodies. A most unpleasant experience. First it destroyed a dragon’s scales; then the wyvern wrapped itself around the now-defenseless dragon prey and squeezed until the life had been crushed from its bones.
An experience that Rhona had no intention of going through. Not if she could help it.
“We’ll have to fight him,” she told Vigholf as they both suddenly took a tunnel to the right.
“As human?”
“We don’t have a choice.”
They took the next turn into another cavern and split up, Vigholf immediately dashing to the other side of the opening, his back against the cave wall. And Rhona went to the left, crouching behind a boulder.
She grabbed the spear her father gave her and held it in her hand. The tip appeared and it grew to be about three feet, but that was it, waiting until she called on more.
She heard the wyvern slither into the cavern, but she could tell it instantly stopped before going farther in.
Carefully, she peeked around the boulder. The wyvern had reared up, nearly reaching the ceiling even though still part of its body stretched outside the cavern. Its eyes searched the area, scales shimmering in the darkness, thankfully easy enough for Rhona to see. If she were truly human, she’d have been eaten by now after getting lost in the black.
Its gaze finally locked on the boulder Rhona stood behind, the sides of its mouth curling up at the corners.
Rhona had only a moment to think, Shit, and then she was diving back behind the boulder, crouching as low as possible. The venom hit the rock and she heard the sizzle, smelled that burning scent of putrid death. Gods, she’d have to make this fast.
She spun around to the other side of the boulder, stepped out, and grabbed one of the throwing axes hanging from her belt. She lifted and threw it. The trajectory was spot-on, flipping end over end across the cavern until it hit the wyvern in the chest—and bounced off, completely ineffectual at this distance.
The wyvern hissed in annoyance and slithered after her. Rhona planted her feet and waited, watching the thing coming right for her.
But behind the wyvern, back by the entrance, Vigholf ran from his spot against the wall, his battle-ax arcing through the air.
Rhona prepared her body, waiting. The ax slammed into the wyvern’s tail, hacking the end off. The high-pitched roar the wyvern unleashed shook the cavern walls, and it pulled up to look, ready to strike Vigholf. That’s when Rhona moved forward, dashing to within feet of the thing. She lifted her spear and it grew from three feet to five feet to six feet, on and on until it was long enough to reach the wyvern’s neck. She rammed the spear forward and buried it between scales and into vulnerable flesh, not only ripping into an artery but blocking the thing’s ability to unleash any more venom. Just as her mum had taught her, years and years ago.
The wyvern tried to turn, its body thrashing wildly, blood spewing from its tail and its throat. Rhona held on, refusing to release the desperate animal even though her human body was weakening faster than she’d like.
“Pull him down!” Vigholf yelled as he charged forward.
It wasn’t easy, but she did as he ordered, stepping back and yanking the beast down with her. When it was still about ten feet from the ground, Vigholf climbed up on its back and up to where its head met its neck. He lifted his warhammer with both hands—the weapon her father made easily tripling in size—and swung. The heavy steel struck the side of the wyvern’s head, something snapping inside. But still it fought. Still it tried to kill or get away or both. So Rhona gripped her spear tighter and twisted it, shoving the tip deeper in. And Vigholf raised his hammer and brought it down again and again directly onto the wyvern’s head, smashing it until the thing finally slumped forward, the only thing keeping it up being Rhona’s spear.
Vigholf stood there a moment, his hammer pressed to the back of the thing’s neck, and his body leaning on it.
“This is not comfortable, Lightning.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He went down the beast’s neck until he could jump off without breaking something important. And as he walked toward Rhona, he heard it coming up from behind him. Hissing.
“Rhona?”
She leaned over, her hands still clutching her spear.
“I think there’s more,” he told her.
She blinked, then quickly examined the one still hanging from her weapon. “Shit and piss . . . I was right.”
“Right about what?”
“This is the baby.” She retracted her weapon and took off running. “You better come on!”
Vigholf bolted after her, ignoring the angry sounds coming from behind him. Rhona raced through caverns and passageways, the only thing leading them both the scent of fresh air. When they finally saw the way out, they hurtled toward the exit together, diving through it and out into the much safer world of rain and painful lightning.
“Vigholf!” she ordered.
“Close it!”
Vigholf turned, his eyes briefly widening at the size of the head he could see slithering forward, mouth gaping open to unleash more of that venom. Having no desire to experience that, he unleashed his lightning on the rocky area above. Boulders crashed down, blocking the cavern, but it didn’t stop the scream of rage that followed.
Panting, the pair looked at each other and then over to a nearby tree.
“You two,” Vigholf accused the horses. “Leaving us to die. You couldn’t give us a little warning?”
The female at least had the good graces to look away, but the male sneered at him. Again!
And Vigholf was marching over there, his fists raised to teach the rude bastard some manners, when Rhona caught his arm, pulled him back.
“Can we fight about this later? It’s not like those boulders are going to stop her for long, and I’d rather not be here when she finally digs her way out.”
“Yeah. All right.” But he pointed a warning finger at the stallion. “But this isn’t over!”
Rhona rolled her eyes before she mounted the mare. “I swear, the both of you—pathetic.”
The stallion allowed Vigholf to mount him, but Vigholf knew he wasn’t happy about it.
Even though it was still raining quite hard, they rode off, leaving the cave and that damn wyvern behind. But after about fifteen minutes the rain let up, then stopped completely. Soaking wet, but not minding too much because he was still alive and not covered in green venom, Vigholf rode alongside Rhona. After a while he had to admit to her, “You were amazing in there.”
“In where?”
“In the cave. With the wyvern. Have you fought them before?”
“No, but Mum has. So has my father. They have a lot of them in some of the caverns in the Black Mountains.”
“Well . . . you handled all that brilliantly.”
“You sound surprised.”
“We were trapped in a cave with an animal you never fought, that you’d only heard about from your parents, and yet you knew just what to do, and you knew quickly. That’s impressive, Rhona. I know I wouldn’t have handled it as well if you hadn’t been there.”
“I’ve seen you handle the unexpected, Vigholf. You would have done fine on your own.” She stopped the mare and Vigholf halted the stallion. “But your words mean much to me. Thank you.”
He shrugged, feeling a bit foolish. “I merely note what I see. Nothing more.”
“It’s more to me,” she said.
And, no longer feeling foolish, Vigholf moved the stallion closer until they were side by side.
Vigholf reached out and stroked Rhona’s cheek. She tensed, her eyes blinking wide in surprise. She’d had the same expression when she first saw the wyvern. A look of panic she was desperately trying to control.
He should stop. He should pull back and they should ride on. There was so much going on in their world, they didn’t have time for any of this.
But the honest truth of it was he couldn’t help himself. Not with those beautiful brown eyes watching him.
Vigholf slipped his hand behind Rhona’s neck and leaned in closer, the stallion beneath him surprisingly calm and unmoving. Holding the back of her neck loosely, Vigholf brought his face in a bit closer, brushing his forehead against her chin, her cheek; his fingers massaged her neck. When she didn’t pull away—or impale him with that damn spear—Vigholf pressed his lips against hers.
Her whole body immediately tensed, her fingers curling into fists gripping the mare’s mane tight.
Vigholf tipped his head to the side, his tongue gently sliding against her lips, trying to coax her into returning the kiss without seeming desperate.
And gods . . . he was desperate.
He’d wanted to do this for five years. Five long years of being stuck in the same cave with a female who told everyone he was a pest while swinging that damn tail at him.
Yet there was nothing from her or her lips. No response. No reaction except those tight fists.
Too fast. He was going too fast. Like she’d warned him their night together at Garbhán Isle, she wasn’t like her sisters or her cousins when it came to this sort of thing.
So he’d wait because, he knew, Rhona was a female worth waiting for.
Vigholf pulled back, but let the fingers that still rested on her neck linger as he sat up straight.
She watched him but said nothing, and he had no idea what to make of that. But he wouldn’t apologize for what he’d done. Not now. Not ever.
Rhona began to speak, stopped, frowned, and with a short shake of her head, turned her attention to the road ahead of them and spurred her horse into a gallop.
And, after letting out a soul-deep sigh, Vigholf followed.
Overlord Thracius walked by his soldiers, watching as they worked hard to ready everything.
“Any word from my daughter?” he asked his next in command, General Maecius.
“No, sir. I sent out scouts to see if they could find the messenger.”
“And?”
“They discovered his body beside a lake.”
Thracius stopped and faced the general. “Accident?”
“Signs of poisoning and his body showed signs of torture. He was killed.”
“So the message got to the Southlanders?”
“I would assume. But there’s been no retreat. No exodus of troops.”
“That’s fine. If the princes had left to save their spawn, I would have only had to kill them later anyway.” He walked on, but asked, gesturing at the work going on around him, “How far along are we?”
“Another two days. Maybe three.”
“Then start the siege tonight.”
“But my lord—”
“Tonight. We start the siege and prepare everything else while they’re dealing with that. But”—he stopped again and faced the general, pointing his talon in his face—“the timing must be perfect, Maecius. Understand me?”
“I do, my lord. And it will be perfect.”
“Good.” He headed toward his private chambers deep inside Polycarp Mountains. “By the time we’re ready to strike . . . those idiots won’t see us coming.”
Chapter 18
They rode most of the day until they reached a town about another day’s ride outside of the Aricia Mountains. Crossing the mountains would be the challenge. Not only because of the terrain, but because of what lay on the other side. But until then, Rhona wasn’t going to think about it. Instead, she only wanted warm food and ale.
She knew the horses would never allow themselves to be placed in a stable for the night, so she left them about a mile outside of town near the river that cut through the mountains. And, if the horses were still there in the morning, they’d hopefully take them into the mountains the following day.
As soon as Rhona and Vigholf reached the town, they separated. He didn’t say why, and she didn’t ask. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Vigholf had kissed her. He didn’t seem angry, which she appreciated, but she never saw that kiss coming. And when it did, it took her completely by surprise. So she’d ended up just sitting there, feeling confused and foolish and annoyingly warm. But . . . what else could she do? For five years the dragon had done nothing but obsess over her spear and get in her way. Now he was kissing her—while on horseback. Acting as if he meant that kiss. As if kissing her was the most important thing in the entire world . . .
No, no, no! She didn’t want to think about this. She was hungry and had things to do. So she went and replenished their supplies and eventually settled down at a busy pub for that hot meal.
A few bowls of stew later, the Northlander arrived. He wore the hood of his cape pulled down far on his head, hiding his purple hair. But he couldn’t hide his size. The males instantly fell into an uneasy silence and the women . . . well, no matter the species, Rhona could see lust miles away.
He sat down on the wood bench across from her and motioned to a barmaid. “Ale and stew. Some bread, too.”
The woman smiled sweetly at him before turning to Rhona. “More food for you?”
Rhona sucked her tongue against her teeth in warning and the barmaid walked off.
“Get what we need?” Vigholf asked, and she was quite relieved that he was finally talking to her.
“I got enough to last me at least two weeks. But with you along, I’m guessing we’ll need more food in another day or two.”
He shrugged and began eating the bread she had left.
“What have you been up to?”
“Tell you later,” he muttered, leaning back as food was placed in front of him.
“All right, but I was thinking we could—” Another bowl of stew was dropped in front of Rhona and it was filled to the brim.
“You seem so hungry,” the barmaid said by way of explanation.
Rhona’s eyes narrowed onto the bitchy little service worker, but Vigholf made her smile a little when he said around a mouthful of food, “I like a female with an appetite.”
Once the barmaid had gone off, Rhona asked, “Want me to get us a couple of rooms for the night? They have space upstairs.”
“No,” he replied, completely focused on his food.
“No?”
“No.”
“You want to spend another night outside when we have a perfectly acceptable pub? Why?”
“Because you’d rather sleep under the stars.”
“What?”
“You’re just as happy on the ground, looking up at the sky. Right?”
It took a moment for Rhona to understand what he was talking about, but then she laughed. “You’re throwing my drunken words back at me?”
“Only when I like them. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all.” Rhona had never really liked staying in pubs or inns. She always felt trapped by the walls, but her kin had always felt completely different on that point.
Rhona watched the dragon eat. Although it was more like inhaling than an actual act of putting food in one’s mouth and chewing. Yet it seemed to work for him. And, knowing that one serving would never satisfy Vigholf, Rhona pushed her bowl of stew across the table and let him devour that as well.