Last Dragon Standing
Page 127
But Keita sensed that a real trial was the last thing her cousin would allow at the moment.
“You mean hold her captive.”
“If it keeps our queen safe…”
“He blames me,” Izzy said, when she knew she could speak without blubbering.
“Of course he blames you. That’s what they do. As sweet as our Éibhear is, he’s still his father’s son. He’s still male.”
“I should have hit him harder with that shield.” Chuckling, Annwyl dropped to the ground in the middle of the field, and began sharpening her sword with a stone. “I’m still amazed you could pick that bloody shield up.”
“It was just a practice shield.”
“For dragons, Izzy. A practice shield for dragons.” Izzy shrugged, gazing across the field and into the surrounding woods.
She sat down beside Annwyl, relieved to be out of the fortress, at least for a little while. Away from Éibhear and Celyn.
“It’ll be all right, Izzy.”
“It will never be all right. Those two will make up, and I’ll be relegated to the whore who got between cousins.”
“You think Celyn will walk away from you that easily?” Annwyl grasped Izzy’s chin, tugging until Izzy had to look at her. “Or is that what you’re hoping?”
Frustrated, Izzy shook off her aunt’s hand. “Everyone acts like Celyn is supposed to Claim me as his own now.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“So it’s what you want from Éibhear.”
Izzy gave a snort of disgust. “I want nothing more than to see the back of him.”
“Is that so?”
“He judged me like he had a right. Like he has some say in my life.”
“You don’t want Celyn. You don’t want Éibhear. What do you want, Izzy the Dangerous?”
Now she looked at her queen without fear or shame, and admitted the truth. “I want to be your squire.”
“I have a squire,” Annwyl said flatly. “He’s fat now.” Shocked, Izzy giggled. “Annwyl!”
“He is. Wonderful with horses, though. My Violence loves him.” She glanced at the enormous black beast calmly grazing on the grass several feet from them. “But my squire’s fat, and that’s because I don’t go anywhere. I don’t do anything. If you become my squire, Izzy, all your talent will go to waste. I won’t have that, luv. Not for you.”
“So you won’t being going to face the Sovereigns in the west?” Izzy asked, having heard her parents talking the night before.
Annwyl shrugged, pulling her knees up so she could wrap her arms around her legs. “I’ll send legions to meet Thracius head on.”
“Is that what you want?”
“At the moment that’s all I can have, Izzy.” The horse pawed the ground, shook his head.
Annwyl gave a little laugh. “As you can see, my Violence doesn’t like the sound of that at all.”
Eyes on Violence, Izzy frowned, not sure Annwyl’s words were the horse’s concern at all.
“Izzy.”
Her queen’s voice was soft when she said her name, so soft Izzy might have missed it if she weren’t right next to her. But Izzy heard the fear and slowly looked away from Violence.
They’d come out of the trees, but Izzy had heard no sound. They moved like death. And yet there were so many of them, Izzy couldn’t even count the number. Izzy had never seen anything like them before.
Animal skins and leather barely covered hard, muscular bodies that had seen many battles. And they all bore many tattoos. No tattoo the same.
Some of them wore them on their arms, their thighs, their chests, but absolutely all of them had tattoos on their faces. Black, tribal markings disturbed only when facial wounds had left scars.
Most were on foot, but a good forty were mounted, with large doglike creatures beside each one.
What they rode were like horses, but Izzy had never seen any so wide, their oversized muscles rippling as they stood restlessly, swinging their heads to the ground so their horns could dig in to the dirt. Izzy had the feeling the digging was their way of sharpening those horns. And their eyes were blood red. The doglike animals also had horns, but their horns curled inward like the rams Izzy liked to chase on the Western Mountains. Unlike the large dogs Dagmar bred and raised, though, these things were bigger.
Some looked close to three hundred pounds, all of it hard muscle and flesh.
Like something coughed up from the underworld.
Yet none of that disturbed Izzy as much as what were being held back by thick chain and collar. While the dogs had no leash and the horses had no saddles, these things were controlled by the thick metal collars around their throats and the chains being held by their captors. These had no horns, no otherworldly eyes, no bulging, overdeveloped muscles—and that was because they were men. Human men frothing at the mouth, more than eager to kill. Men who’d lost their minds and humanity long, long ago.
Slowly, Annwyl got to her feet, her gaze locked not on the entire legion before her but on the one who rode at the head. A woman. A witch.
Izzy might not be one like her mother and sister, but she could spot one. She could spot them all.
“Izzy,” Annwyl said again, her voice now stronger. “Go.”
“Leave you to fight alone?”
“No. Get me help.”
The witch leader lifted her hand, palm up, middle and forefinger out.
“You mean hold her captive.”
“If it keeps our queen safe…”
“He blames me,” Izzy said, when she knew she could speak without blubbering.
“Of course he blames you. That’s what they do. As sweet as our Éibhear is, he’s still his father’s son. He’s still male.”
“I should have hit him harder with that shield.” Chuckling, Annwyl dropped to the ground in the middle of the field, and began sharpening her sword with a stone. “I’m still amazed you could pick that bloody shield up.”
“It was just a practice shield.”
“For dragons, Izzy. A practice shield for dragons.” Izzy shrugged, gazing across the field and into the surrounding woods.
She sat down beside Annwyl, relieved to be out of the fortress, at least for a little while. Away from Éibhear and Celyn.
“It’ll be all right, Izzy.”
“It will never be all right. Those two will make up, and I’ll be relegated to the whore who got between cousins.”
“You think Celyn will walk away from you that easily?” Annwyl grasped Izzy’s chin, tugging until Izzy had to look at her. “Or is that what you’re hoping?”
Frustrated, Izzy shook off her aunt’s hand. “Everyone acts like Celyn is supposed to Claim me as his own now.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“So it’s what you want from Éibhear.”
Izzy gave a snort of disgust. “I want nothing more than to see the back of him.”
“Is that so?”
“He judged me like he had a right. Like he has some say in my life.”
“You don’t want Celyn. You don’t want Éibhear. What do you want, Izzy the Dangerous?”
Now she looked at her queen without fear or shame, and admitted the truth. “I want to be your squire.”
“I have a squire,” Annwyl said flatly. “He’s fat now.” Shocked, Izzy giggled. “Annwyl!”
“He is. Wonderful with horses, though. My Violence loves him.” She glanced at the enormous black beast calmly grazing on the grass several feet from them. “But my squire’s fat, and that’s because I don’t go anywhere. I don’t do anything. If you become my squire, Izzy, all your talent will go to waste. I won’t have that, luv. Not for you.”
“So you won’t being going to face the Sovereigns in the west?” Izzy asked, having heard her parents talking the night before.
Annwyl shrugged, pulling her knees up so she could wrap her arms around her legs. “I’ll send legions to meet Thracius head on.”
“Is that what you want?”
“At the moment that’s all I can have, Izzy.” The horse pawed the ground, shook his head.
Annwyl gave a little laugh. “As you can see, my Violence doesn’t like the sound of that at all.”
Eyes on Violence, Izzy frowned, not sure Annwyl’s words were the horse’s concern at all.
“Izzy.”
Her queen’s voice was soft when she said her name, so soft Izzy might have missed it if she weren’t right next to her. But Izzy heard the fear and slowly looked away from Violence.
They’d come out of the trees, but Izzy had heard no sound. They moved like death. And yet there were so many of them, Izzy couldn’t even count the number. Izzy had never seen anything like them before.
Animal skins and leather barely covered hard, muscular bodies that had seen many battles. And they all bore many tattoos. No tattoo the same.
Some of them wore them on their arms, their thighs, their chests, but absolutely all of them had tattoos on their faces. Black, tribal markings disturbed only when facial wounds had left scars.
Most were on foot, but a good forty were mounted, with large doglike creatures beside each one.
What they rode were like horses, but Izzy had never seen any so wide, their oversized muscles rippling as they stood restlessly, swinging their heads to the ground so their horns could dig in to the dirt. Izzy had the feeling the digging was their way of sharpening those horns. And their eyes were blood red. The doglike animals also had horns, but their horns curled inward like the rams Izzy liked to chase on the Western Mountains. Unlike the large dogs Dagmar bred and raised, though, these things were bigger.
Some looked close to three hundred pounds, all of it hard muscle and flesh.
Like something coughed up from the underworld.
Yet none of that disturbed Izzy as much as what were being held back by thick chain and collar. While the dogs had no leash and the horses had no saddles, these things were controlled by the thick metal collars around their throats and the chains being held by their captors. These had no horns, no otherworldly eyes, no bulging, overdeveloped muscles—and that was because they were men. Human men frothing at the mouth, more than eager to kill. Men who’d lost their minds and humanity long, long ago.
Slowly, Annwyl got to her feet, her gaze locked not on the entire legion before her but on the one who rode at the head. A woman. A witch.
Izzy might not be one like her mother and sister, but she could spot one. She could spot them all.
“Izzy,” Annwyl said again, her voice now stronger. “Go.”
“Leave you to fight alone?”
“No. Get me help.”
The witch leader lifted her hand, palm up, middle and forefinger out.
