What a Dragon Should Know
Page 19
Briec leaned against the wood fence surrounding the arena, briefly regarding the other army officers and some of Annwyl’s Elite Guard standing around with him. “Now what?”
Brastias rested his arms against the top of the fence and let out a sigh before he began. “When we took Izzy in, it was with the understanding that if she failed, she’d have to go. Not only for her safety, but for the safety of those in battle with her.”
“Of course. I’ll not have my daughter in danger because she has some pipe dream of being a warrior.”
“Aye,” Brastias mumbled. “Pipe dream.”
Briec flinched a bit. “How bad is she?”
“You need to see.”
Brastias motioned to one of the trainers and that man called out, “Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith, come forward and fight!”
Briec could see where this was going. Brastias, weak human that he was, wanted Briec to be the one to break the news to Izzy that she still had much more training to do before she moved to the next level. Not good, because his daughter had little patience for the normal way of things and she wanted to be a soldier in Annwyl’s army now.
Izzy stepped into the training area. She had more bruises on her face, and her lip had been split open. But none of that took away from the beauty she’d gotten from her mother. Although at only seventeen winters she was still all legs, having not really filled out yet. And she was still getting taller. Right now, she was as tall as Annwyl, able to look the six-foot-tall human queen directly in the eye. But in a few more years, Izzy would blossom, rounding out a bit to resemble her mother even more only with light brown eyes and lighter brown hair.
Already, though, the unworthy local boys had been looking closely at Briec’s daughter. A little too closely. And those who had tried to move past mere looking, Briec, Fearghus, and Gwenvael took great delight in slapping around until they learned that anything but looking at his daughter could get a man killed.
Weighed down with a short sword and the full-length metal shields Annwyl’s army favored for close in battles, Izzy glanced around the arena. She wasn’t looking for anyone, he’d guess, but her mind had wandered. Izzy’s mind wandered a lot, it seemed.
Izzy spotted him and her grin grew wide. “Daddy!” she squealed and waved excitedly with the hand holding the sword. She almost hit herself in the head with it too, and had apparently forgotten she’d seen Briec only that morning near the stables.
He smiled back at her. “Hello, little one.”
“Are you here to watch?”
“I am.”
She scrunched up her nose nervously and said, “Oh. Well, remember … I’m still learning!” And she gave him that hopeful look that tore his heart out.
He nodded at her and muttered to Brastias, “It’s only been seven months. Perhaps, you could give her another—”
“You have to see.” Brastias motioned to the trainer, who motioned to a huge bear of a man. A man Briec recognized from battles they’d been in together. This was no fellow trainee, but one of Annwyl’s favored warriors, whom she affectionately referred to as “Slaughter-Bear.”
Briec felt his anger grow, wondering why they were trying to push his daughter out. Most trainees had until they were twenty-one winters to prove they were worthy of any more time and training before they were sent packing. “This is cruel, Brastias. I won’t allow—”
“You have to see,” Brastias said again. “Go!” he yelled at the two combatants, and Izzy smiled and nodded.
Briec did see then. He saw so clearly that he knew his problem was worse than he could have imagined. Worse than he’d ever dreamed of. For the first time in his life he didn’t know how he was going to handle something. Because he knew this would get dangerously ugly before it ever got better. And he knew there’d be no avoiding it. Not now.
Every warrior standing outside the training ring grimaced when they heard bone break and a cry of pain seconds before Annwyl’s favored warrior flew into the fence, knocking part of it and himself completely out.
“Oh!” Izzy said, her teeth briefly gnawing her bottom lip. “Sorry, Captain, about your … uh … face.” She grimaced and slowly peeked over at Brastias. “Sorry about that, General. I guess I forgot to back off … again.”
Slowly, so slowly, Brastias looked at Briec. The expression on the man’s face, the tic under his eye made it clear what Briec needed to do.
But how was a dragon, any dragon, supposed to tell the woman he loved that her only daughter, not yet eighteen, would be going off to war?
Dagmar made sure the last of her dogs were in their runs, fed, and cared for. It took some time to calm them down, the fear of the dragon lingering, but for being not even a year old, they’d done well. They hadn’t backed down from the dragon at all. Good. She couldn’t afford for the dogs to be cowering during battle.
After saying good night to Johann, Dagmar headed back to the fortress, Canute by her side. When she walked into the Main Hall, she wasn’t exactly surprised to find her kin in the midst of a fight. It was a verbal altercation, not yet moving into a physical one. Although it most likely would. Her brothers needed very little reason to fight and as long as she stayed out of their way, she rarely got injured.
Yet the arguing stopped as soon as she walked in, her brothers immediately focusing on her.
Dagmar paused. “Yes?”
“He’s in your room?” Eymund asked, leaning against one of the long dining tables.
Brastias rested his arms against the top of the fence and let out a sigh before he began. “When we took Izzy in, it was with the understanding that if she failed, she’d have to go. Not only for her safety, but for the safety of those in battle with her.”
“Of course. I’ll not have my daughter in danger because she has some pipe dream of being a warrior.”
“Aye,” Brastias mumbled. “Pipe dream.”
Briec flinched a bit. “How bad is she?”
“You need to see.”
Brastias motioned to one of the trainers and that man called out, “Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith, come forward and fight!”
Briec could see where this was going. Brastias, weak human that he was, wanted Briec to be the one to break the news to Izzy that she still had much more training to do before she moved to the next level. Not good, because his daughter had little patience for the normal way of things and she wanted to be a soldier in Annwyl’s army now.
Izzy stepped into the training area. She had more bruises on her face, and her lip had been split open. But none of that took away from the beauty she’d gotten from her mother. Although at only seventeen winters she was still all legs, having not really filled out yet. And she was still getting taller. Right now, she was as tall as Annwyl, able to look the six-foot-tall human queen directly in the eye. But in a few more years, Izzy would blossom, rounding out a bit to resemble her mother even more only with light brown eyes and lighter brown hair.
Already, though, the unworthy local boys had been looking closely at Briec’s daughter. A little too closely. And those who had tried to move past mere looking, Briec, Fearghus, and Gwenvael took great delight in slapping around until they learned that anything but looking at his daughter could get a man killed.
Weighed down with a short sword and the full-length metal shields Annwyl’s army favored for close in battles, Izzy glanced around the arena. She wasn’t looking for anyone, he’d guess, but her mind had wandered. Izzy’s mind wandered a lot, it seemed.
Izzy spotted him and her grin grew wide. “Daddy!” she squealed and waved excitedly with the hand holding the sword. She almost hit herself in the head with it too, and had apparently forgotten she’d seen Briec only that morning near the stables.
He smiled back at her. “Hello, little one.”
“Are you here to watch?”
“I am.”
She scrunched up her nose nervously and said, “Oh. Well, remember … I’m still learning!” And she gave him that hopeful look that tore his heart out.
He nodded at her and muttered to Brastias, “It’s only been seven months. Perhaps, you could give her another—”
“You have to see.” Brastias motioned to the trainer, who motioned to a huge bear of a man. A man Briec recognized from battles they’d been in together. This was no fellow trainee, but one of Annwyl’s favored warriors, whom she affectionately referred to as “Slaughter-Bear.”
Briec felt his anger grow, wondering why they were trying to push his daughter out. Most trainees had until they were twenty-one winters to prove they were worthy of any more time and training before they were sent packing. “This is cruel, Brastias. I won’t allow—”
“You have to see,” Brastias said again. “Go!” he yelled at the two combatants, and Izzy smiled and nodded.
Briec did see then. He saw so clearly that he knew his problem was worse than he could have imagined. Worse than he’d ever dreamed of. For the first time in his life he didn’t know how he was going to handle something. Because he knew this would get dangerously ugly before it ever got better. And he knew there’d be no avoiding it. Not now.
Every warrior standing outside the training ring grimaced when they heard bone break and a cry of pain seconds before Annwyl’s favored warrior flew into the fence, knocking part of it and himself completely out.
“Oh!” Izzy said, her teeth briefly gnawing her bottom lip. “Sorry, Captain, about your … uh … face.” She grimaced and slowly peeked over at Brastias. “Sorry about that, General. I guess I forgot to back off … again.”
Slowly, so slowly, Brastias looked at Briec. The expression on the man’s face, the tic under his eye made it clear what Briec needed to do.
But how was a dragon, any dragon, supposed to tell the woman he loved that her only daughter, not yet eighteen, would be going off to war?
Dagmar made sure the last of her dogs were in their runs, fed, and cared for. It took some time to calm them down, the fear of the dragon lingering, but for being not even a year old, they’d done well. They hadn’t backed down from the dragon at all. Good. She couldn’t afford for the dogs to be cowering during battle.
After saying good night to Johann, Dagmar headed back to the fortress, Canute by her side. When she walked into the Main Hall, she wasn’t exactly surprised to find her kin in the midst of a fight. It was a verbal altercation, not yet moving into a physical one. Although it most likely would. Her brothers needed very little reason to fight and as long as she stayed out of their way, she rarely got injured.
Yet the arguing stopped as soon as she walked in, her brothers immediately focusing on her.
Dagmar paused. “Yes?”
“He’s in your room?” Eymund asked, leaning against one of the long dining tables.
