by G. A. Aiken
“Grateful?”
“Rumor was they’d burned some other villages the past few days, but not before they . . . to the women . . .” He shook his head and blindly walked off.
“We need to go,” Rhona said.
Vigholf looked around and, if these humans weren’t already in a state of shock, they’d have been terrified by the expression he wore. “But these people, Rhona . . .”
“I know. But there’s nothing we can do for them now. And Annwyl’s alone with those soldiers. We have to move.”
“Right. You’re right.” Vigholf took a step, then stopped. “They were looking for her. They knew she was coming.”
Rhona headed back to the horses. “We have to move.”
It was easy enough to track the soldiers. They were headed back to the Provinces and moving at a nice clip until late in the evening when they finally stopped for the night.
Vigholf crouched beside Rhona on a hill overlooking the campsite. Together they watched as the soldiers dragged Annwyl from a cage. When they started kicking and punching her, Vigholf had to catch Rhona and hold her.
“Not yet,” he told her.
“We can shift.”
“You don’t think they know how to fight us? That Thracius didn’t give his human soldiers enough insight to bring a couple of us down during battle? We wait.”
A Sovereign picked Annwyl up by her throat. Based on the elaborateness of his armor and the horse-hair crest on his helm, he was the commanding officer. Motioning to at least twenty of his men, he walked to the only tent that had been set up, dragging a barely conscious Annwyl with him. The men, laughing, followed.
“Now do we move?” Rhona asked.
“Now we move.”
They began down the hill, staying low, using the tall grass to shield them. They’d stay human to start and only shift if they deemed it necessary.
But, as they moved, a crow sounded behind them and Rhona instantly stopped.
“What?” Vigholf whispered. “What is it?”
Taking a breath, Rhona let out a similar crow caw and there was an answering response. With a nod, Rhona kept low but ran to her right and slightly up until they spotted a large tree. They went around it and Rhona instantly wrapped her arms around the young She-dragon standing behind it.
“Branwen.”
“Cousin Rhona?” Branwen whispered. “What the hells are you doing here?”
“Come to get you and your wayward queen. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine. I’m fine. We’re fine.”
“Hello, Vigholf.”
Vigholf smiled at the human girl who spoke to him. She’d matured a bit since Vigholf had last seen her. Grown into a right little cutie. But a cutie that could tear a head off with her bare hands based on the size of her. “Izzy. In trouble again, I see.”
“Only a bit.” She nodded and smiled at Rhona. “Hello, Rhona.”
“Iseabail,” Rhona said coldly, turning from her. “You two stay here. We’ll take care of the—”
“We have our orders,” Izzy said. “You can come with us or you can stay here and watch. But we’re moving.” She nodded at Branwen. “And we’re moving now.”
Rhona glared at the pair as they quickly and quietly headed off down the hill. “Damn brats.”
“Damn soldiers,” he reminded her. “We follow?”
“It’s not like we have any choice,” Rhona said, pulling out her spear and letting it expand until it was the size she wanted it. “Now let’s go kill some murdering bastards.”
Rhona watched her cousin and Iseabail attack first. Brannie seemed to favor the old standard—a sword and a shield. Iseabail, however, used an ax and a short sword. Together, the pair ran into the soldiers cooking their food over pit fires. The first men they encountered barely had time to call to their comrades before they were cut down by the young females.
Yet the next wave of soldiers had time to pull their weapons and attack, but the four of them ripped through the entire battalion without much effort. It would have been more of a challenge if Rhona and Vigholf had been alone or if Branwen and Iseabail hadn’t been as well trained. But they had been, hacking and slashing their way through the troops, all of them quickly making their way to the tent Annwyl had been pulled into.
Rhona cleared her way through the soldiers first, giving her a straight run at the tent. She didn’t want her cousin to see . . . Anyway, she thought someone from inside would have heard the screams and been out here to see what was going on by now. But perhaps they were too focused on what they were doing to Annwyl.
Disgusted more than she could say, Rhona charged the tent, but she stumbled back when the tent flap was yanked open. She raised her shield and spear, ready to strike, but it was Annwyl standing in that tent flap. It was Annwyl who was covered in blood and was dragging the moaning commander by the neck of his breastplate.
The queen stopped right outside the tent, eyes blinking slowly. “Rhona?”
“Annwyl?” Rhona looked her over. “Are you all right?”
“Nose is broken,” she muttered. Then she walked off with the commander.
Vigholf stood by Rhona now, the pair staring after Annwyl before looking at each other. Without a word spoken, they entered the tent, but didn’t get any farther than a few inches past the flap.
“Gods, Vigholf.”
“All of them,” he murmured in awe. “She’s killed all of them.”
Not just killed either. More like decimated. She must have gotten someone’s sword or ax, because there were pieces of the soldiers everywhere. Heads, arms, legs . . . penises. Those pieces, along with all the blood, filled the entire floor and walls of the tent.
Rhona walked back outside and watched Annwyl shove the Sovereign commander against the cage they’d kept her in. Iseabail tied the commander’s arms to the bars and Branwen handed Annwyl one of her two swords.
Wondering what the hells was going on, Rhona headed over to the three females.
Annwyl crouched down before the commander. She stared at him a moment, then broke out in a bright smile. “That was fun, eh?” She poked him in the chest with her fist. Not hard, but based on his reaction Rhona was guessing there were some ribs broken there.
“Now,” Annwyl began, “tell me how you knew I was here.”
“You were seen,” the commander said through blood and broken teeth.
“Now, now. Don’t lie. I am so very good at spotting liars. So don’t lie to me. How did you know I was here? That I was coming?”
“You were seen,” the commander said again, glaring at her through the eye not swollen shut.
Annwyl let out a sigh, stood, and slashed her sword. It moved so quickly, Rhona barely saw it, but she heard the screaming of the commander, saw blood pouring from where Annwyl had hacked off the fingers of his left hand. She crouched in front of him again.
“Let’s try this again. How did you know I was coming? That I was here?”
Panting, gritting his teeth against the pain, “Got a message from Lady Vateria’s mage.”
“She has her own personal mage? How nice. And what’s his name?”
When he didn’t answer, Annwyl began to stand.
“Junius,” the commander said quickly. “Lord Junius.”
Annwyl returned to her position in front of the Sovereign. “And how did he know?”
The commander shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“No. You probably don’t.” She reached over to him with her free hand and wiped a splatter of blood away from his jaw. Kind of ludicrous since he was covered in the stuff. His own and that of his men. “But I bet you know where I can find someone else.” She briefly pursed her lips. “Someone important.” She patted his chest. “Tell me where to find Gaius Lucius Domitus.”
This time the commander didn’t bother lying; he simply shook his head. “Never. I am a soldier of the Sovereign Provinces and I’ll never—”
Annwyl hacked off the commander’s arm at the elbow, ignoring the
blood that splattered across her face. “Branwen,” she murmured. And Rhona, becoming more horrified by the second, watched as her cousin unleashed a small stream of flame that cauterized the wound and stopped the bleeding.
Crouching in front of him again, Annwyl calmly asked, “Where can I find Gaius Lucius Domitus?”
The strength of will of this one human commander showed why the Irons and Sovereigns were not easily killed. The leader shook his head. “I’ll tell you nothing, whore.”
Rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, Annwyl said, “I can hurt you . . . for hours. Just like you were planning to do to me tonight. So, let’s not pretend you have any real choice in the matter. Tell me where to find Gaius Lucius Domitus. And tell me right now.”
“No.”
Without raising her voice, Annwyl said, “Izzy.”
And Iseabail the Dangerous, Daughter of Talaith and Briec, used her battle-ax to hack off the commander’s leg just below his knee, and Branwen quickly followed that up with a blast of flame.
The commander’s screams echoed out in the night and Rhona stepped forward, about to demand Annwyl stop this, but Vigholf caught her arm, shook his head. She didn’t know if he stopped her because he was all right with all this—or afraid of what Annwyl would do about the interruption.
“Where can I find Gaius Lucius Domitus?” And this time, the crazed bitch almost sang that question.
Shaking, the commander said, “He lives outside the Provinces. In the Septima Mountains. But he’ll be no more welcoming to you than Vateria. He’ll kill you, whore, and your friends.”
“That is so considerate,” Annwyl mocked. “Warning me of impending doom after I’ve done nothing but cut pieces off you. When you think about it, it’s very considerate. I’m sure it’s not that you just don’t want me to find him because he’s a real threat to your overlord and his bitch daughter. I’m sure that’s not it at all. But thank you for not lying. I appreciate that.”
Annwyl stood, re-sheathed her sword, and took her other sword from Branwen. She stepped away and came toward Rhona and Vigholf, while behind the queen, Izzy finished the commander off, using her ax to remove his head.
Once Annwyl reached Rhona, she tossed her swords at her. Rhona jumped a little but managed to catch the weapons just the same.
“So,” Annwyl said as she grabbed her nose between both hands, “are you two coming with us?”
“We’re here to fetch you,” Vigholf told her. “Your armies are moving through the Eastern Pass toward Euphrasia Valley. It’ll soon begin, Annwyl.”
“It’s already begun. The Irons attacked last night. Siege weapons.”
“What?” Vigholf asked. “How do you know this?”
With a good snap Annwyl put her broken nose back into place and retrieved her weapons from Rhona. “We don’t have much time. Come with us or go back. Your choice. But I’m not stopping until I see Gaius Domitus.”
“You’ll never get to him,” Rhona told her. “They already know you’re here. Vateria sent out a search party for you. A raping, pillaging search party that’s destroyed villages while they look for you.”
“You’re blaming me? For that?”
Not really, but still . . . “Annwyl, everything’s changed. If the battle for Euphrasia has begun, you must go back.”
“If I go back now, we all die or become slaves to that tyrant.” She finished tying her swords to her back and patted Rhona on the shoulder. Rhona took it as a source of pride that she managed not to flinch or jump away from that pat. Years of training, that is. Years of training.
“I’ll not think less of you if you return to your comrades in the Valley. But I’m going to finish this . . . with or without you.”
Annwyl stepped between them and began to walk off. That’s when Vigholf said, “The Western Tribesmen are attacking Garbhán Isle, Annwyl. Where your children are.”
The queen stopped in her tracks, her body one rigid line of tense muscle. But she took several breaths and said, “With or without you, I’m going.”
To Rhona’s shock, the queen headed off into the forests, heading farther into the west. Rhona never thought Annwyl would leave her children to the whim of fate with Tribesmen at her door. But she was leaving them and, without question, Iseabail and Branwen followed her. Rhona didn’t bother to call her cousin back. She knew Brannie’s decision had been made. For whatever reason, she’d follow this mad queen on her insane quest, and there was nothing Rhona could do about it.
Well . . . there was one thing.
“You’re going with her,” Vigholf said. “I can see it on your face.”
“What else can I do?”
“We could go back. Back to the Valley. Back to the war. Even death in battle is better than this insanity.”
“I can’t go back. She has my cousin. She has Briec’s daughter.” She put her hand on Vigholf’s forearm. “But you can go back. Tell them what happened, tell them—”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Vigholf—”
“I’m not leaving you. Not with her.”
“Then you’re a fool.” She glanced over at the queen as she marched into the forest. “We’re not coming back from this, Vigholf.”
“Well, not if you’re going to be so negative.”
Despite everything, she laughed a little. “What?”
“Think positive. You never know. We could survive. And then what will you do with me? Keep me is what you’ll do.” He winked at her and followed after the others, whistling for the horses they’d left on the hill.
Rhona took another look around the camp, her eyes resting on the mangled commander’s remains.
Still disgusted by all that—Rhona had never been one for torture—she followed after the Mad Queen of Garbhán Isle and prayed that when her time came, it wouldn’t be anything like this human commander’s.
She’d hate to meet her Cadwaladr ancestors missing her leg and fingers. They’d mock her for eternity over that.
Chapter 24
Rhiannon stood on the castle walls and stared out over her territory. True, she allowed the humans to believe this was their territory too, but it actually was all hers. So the fact that these Tribesmen had invaded annoyed her. The fact that Annwyl wasn’t here to pound these barbarians into the dirt as she’d been doing for years, much to Rhiannon’s enjoyment, annoyed her even more.
And the Tribesmen were . . . slippery. Disappearing into the forests until they were ready to attack again. They must worship those nature-loving gods.
Even Bercelak with a squad of Dragonwarriors had been unable to find the bastards, although they’d been attacked many times with arrows. So it looked as if they’d have to wait until the Tribesmen struck the castle again, when they were out in the open, before Rhiannon’s warriors could really do some damage.
Well, it could all be worse.
Rhiannon felt a tug on the skirt of her gown and she looked down to see her granddaughter Rhianwen standing there. Honestly! A brigade of Kyvich, a battalion of guards, a centaur, and dragons and absolutely no one could keep their eye on one small child?
“My sweet girl. What are you doing?” Rhiannon crouched in front of her grandchild. “Why are you up here? It’s too dangerous for you to be up here.”
“But it’s begun,” the little girl told her.
“What has?”
“The siege. Where Daddy is.” Small hands reached for her, and Rhiannon pulled her granddaughter in close.
“What happened, Rhian?”
“Daddy’s hurt,” she whispered. “They can’t help him.”
“Are . . .” Rhiannon fought to hold back panic, devastated tears. She wanted to believe the child merely had a bad dream—a nightmare. But Rhiannon knew that the girl had seen. “Are you sure, luv?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Is it very bad?”
“Yes. It’s very bad.” She held up a piece of parchment that she’d drawn on. “But I’m drawing this to help
him.”
Rhiannon forced a smile. “It’s very pretty. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
“Don’t tell Mommy about Daddy. She’ll be upset.”
“I won’t.” Rhiannon kissed the child’s forehead, concern for her son nearly killing her. “Now I don’t want you to worry about anything,” she told the child. “This will all work out.”
“Only if the monster helps.”
“Monster?” Rhiannon asked. “What monster?”
“The angry one. The bad people hurt him. So he hates everybody now. He only has one eye. An angry one eye. Maybe Auntie Keita can send him eye patches to cheer him up.”
Good gods, the child spoke of the Rebel King. But how...
“Will the monster help?” she asked her granddaughter.
The child toyed with Rhiannon’s white hair as she liked to do when her grandmother held her.
“Probably not.”
“Probably not?” Rhiannon asked. “So there’s a chance . . . ?”
“Auntie Annwyl will have to get back what means the most to him.” The girl’s face turned painfully sad. “But she’ll have to get it from the bad one. The bad one won’t give it to her.”
“And what means most to the monster?”
“The same thing that means most to Talwyn and Talan. If Auntie Annwyl remembers that, she’ll know what to do.” Rhian sighed and looked her grandmother in the eye. “When can I have pretty necklaces and bracelets?”
“When I’m sure you won’t turn into your Aunt Keita.”
The girl finally smiled. “Auntie Keita’s funny.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Rhiannon hugged her granddaughter tight while her mind raced with how to get Annwyl a message. Any attempts she’d made to contact either Annwyl or the others in the west, and her offspring in Euphrasia Valley had been fruitless. She’d been blocked. Her! A white Dragonwitch! Damn gods and their damn meddling. And she knew it was the gods because only they could stop her from anything. But there might still be a way. Of course she’d need—