Chapter Eight
Indulf
Anna fell asleep from exhaustion just before dawn. Her hair tangled around her face, her lips red and swollen from all the kissing. Indulf gazed at her, a soft smile on his face as he considered just how magnificent she had been during their night together. He hadn’t expected a human to have such stamina. It had meant that, for the night, he was able to forget about the battles ahead and merely be with her.
Now, though, the sun was beginning to rise, and he had to leave. He sighed as he dressed. She was so beautiful, even more so when she had that smug little smile on her face as she slept. She looked so content, so satisfied. He would carry this image with him, like a lady’s favor, until he either returned or…
He leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, Anna.”
She stirred, but didn’t wake. He grinned at her once more before he retrieved the rest of his armor and tiptoed into the hall to finish dressing. The sounds of murmurs from the other rooms around Anna’s spoke to the other warriors having taken comfort in their ladies’ beds also.
A cold twist filled his stomach, making his smile fade. His words to Anna the previous night came back to him. He’d lied through his teeth about the possibility of death. At the time, he hadn’t expected her to believe him. It wasn’t even until now that he understood why he had lied.
He didn’t want her to be afraid. He didn’t want to leave her with the fear that this was the last time they’d ever see each other. When she took him to her bed, he wanted it to be because she wanted him. Not because she was afraid, or she thought this was a last request. No, he didn’t want her to feel any sort of pressure, didn’t want her to think she had no choice but to accept him. And she had believed him.
Now, if he did die, would that make the pain even worse?
He had considered telling her that the difference in their ages was moot. In comparison between humans and dragons, they were of the same maturity levels. There was something about dragon physiology. Even though he was hundreds of years old, his brain was the same as a human whose age he resembled. That hadn’t seemed to bother her, though, the difference in their ages.
Then, he had considered telling her that when a human mated to a dragon, their life was expanded. They aged at the same rate as their mate. If she wanted to be his mate, she could live practically forever. But that would have had a false promise in it. As though he was going to take her as his mate, when such a thing wouldn’t happen.
No… he wouldn’t mate someone he didn’t love.
Indulf let out a deep breath as he finished buckling his armor. The generals would be congregating, and he could not leave them waiting. He pressed his fingers to his lips, then touched them to the door, leaving Anna with one last kiss she wouldn’t even know she had. Then he turned his back, put her from his mind, and walked away.
There were only a handful of people in the war room. They nodded at him as he entered. He returned the acknowledgment, then went to stand by Volcant. Soon, the other generals had arrived, and they began their meeting.
“Warmund’s army is gathering here,” Volcant said, indicating a spot on the map. “He has sent an acknowledgment of your acceptance to meet him in battle. His numbers are already greater than we anticipated… this isn’t going to be an easy battle to win.”
Indulf nodded. His heart ached, but he took the knowledge that this was his son and locked it away. Right now, Warmund was nothing more than a traitor. “We have grown complacent. A battle is just what we need to sharpen our edge again. Thonis.”
He glanced up at the general. Thonis straightened. He was the youngest of the generals at only twenty-four centuries, but was clever and fiercely devoted.
“You will stay behind at the castle and oversee supply lines, defenses, and transfers of the wounded.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” Thonis bowed to him.
Indulf gestured at Volcant. “You will join me on the battlefield, as head of my guard. Leifson, you will head the second division...”
He didn’t allow himself to think of anything but the coming battle as he gave out his orders. They needed to win this. If he lost… well, changes in leadership were always difficult. And if Warmund beat him? He doubted that the others would simply let his son take the throne. No. It would be the start of a much longer, much bloodier war. This had to end now. Before it got even worse.
***
They were meeting on a large, flat plain. The long grasses had already been carefully burned down, allowing for better footholds in the coming fight. Indulf ordered his camp to be set up ten miles from where Warmund’s camp was already established. He would not order his men forward more than three miles. He risked losing more ground to Warmund’s forces, but the extra distance that Warmund and his men would have to cross, meant that they would be even more tired when they arrived.
Indulf stood outside his tent, listening to his banner snap in the wind. At this distance, he couldn’t tell one dragon from the next over in the enemy’s camp. However, the banner was clear to see. It was the image of a lion in flames. The crest of an ancient king. It was a good move, claiming that as his image. Warmund wasn’t just flinging himself at this, he was taking careful steps. By using a crest older than Indulf’s, Warmund was claiming an older connection to the throne. Given that his mother was a descendant of the ancient kings, it wasn’t an unfounded claim.
Volcant stepped up beside him. “They’re preparing to march.”
“Indeed, they are,” Indulf acknowledged. “And our men?”
“Ready for your order.”
He nodded once. “Then tell them to say their prayers and say their goodbyes.”
He glanced over his shoulder at his own camp. His men were dressed in their armor, while various women rushed about, preparing poultices and bandages for the wounded who would soon be in their care. All of these women had swords strapped to their waists, all of them with determined expressions on their faces. He swallowed hard and turned back to his enemy.
If he had taken more time with Warmund, had talked with him more, they would not be in this situation. Yes, he needed to put down this army before it could harm his people. But the fact was, he was not guiltless in this coming battle. No… he was not guiltless.
Shortly after Indulf spoke with Volcant, Warmund’s people began to march. Indulf gave the order to meet them, and soon he and his men were marching toward the enemy. Volcant and his guard pressed in close around him. Once they were at the three-mile mark, he called for a halt.
Warmund’s army soon was on them. They charged into their ranks, swinging swords and roaring battle cries. Smoke filled the air. Indulf held himself steady, waiting, sword in his hand as the front lines rippled. His heart thudded, but he kept a close eye on what was happening. Beside him, his guard shifted their weight from side to side, clearly as eager as he was to start this fight.
The clash of battle soon reached him. His guard twirled and fought as a half-dozen dragons managed to reach them. Indulf deflected a blade that slipped through, his blood singing with the violence. Everything else faded away as he faced his enemy. The dragon slashed at him and he dodged it, countering with his own attack. His blade sunk into the leather armor, but it wasn’t a deep enough blow to cut through.
A bugle blasted over the battlefield. The dragon he faced grinned. The leather armor snapped off his body as he shifted, rapidly turning to a huge, green-scaled dragon. All around the battlefield, Warmund’s army shifted, abandoning the more polite weaponry of sword and shield. The green dragon snapped at him, jaws open wide.
Indulf rolled out of his reach, cursed, and drew his flames up hot. His dragon’s form burst from his body, rapidly rising above the green dragon’s head. He roared, a single, wordless order to match strength to strength. Flames burst around him. He wheeled, falling on the green dragon. His teeth snapped, biting through scales. Volcant leapt on the green’s back, claws tearing at his wings. Indulf left him to it, his head swiveling from side to side, seeking out the dragons he would recognize. There! There was the silver-blue of his uncle, next to the black of his brother. Another dragon shifted next to them, gold-scaled. Warmund.
Why had he waited so long to shift?
Indulf was yanked back to the battle by claws ripping into his side. He whirled, releasing a blast of dragon fire into his enemy’s face. The dragon withdrew, howling, and Indulf pressed his advantage. He clamped his teeth over the dragons’ throat and tore at his chest and flanks with his claws. Blood and scales sprayed into the air.
He released the dragon, watching it fall, and roared again. His guard had dispatched the other attackers, and they reformed around him. Together, they pressed forward, moving swiftly to engage with the wall of dragons around his son. Several dragons took to the air, coming at him. He leapt to greet them, flinging one to the ground before he dragged another down, as well. Volcant and the others took on the rest, fighting them off as Indulf took care of the one before him.
As he inched his way closer to Warmund, he saw his forces break through Warmund’s guard. His son disappeared under a swarm of bodies, and his heart stopped. He threw himself forward, thinking of nothing but to help his boy, but his way was blocked. He tore into the dragon who blocked him, shredding scales from his skin.
Then he saw the silver-blue and black dragons pulling Warmund’s gold form away from the battle. They raced back towards their camp, leaving the enemies behind. Another bugle blast, and the dragons they fought started to inch back, trying to extract themselves from the fight. Indulf sent out a call for retreat, as well. A few roars, screams of pain, then everything went still as both sides broke from each other.
Indulf’s blood pounded in his ears as he watched his uncle and brother pull Warmund back to their camp. Blood poured from his son’s body, and he couldn’t look away. Indulf had never gotten along well with his illegitimate son, but seeing Warmund in such a state…
He shook himself and retreated back to the camp, his men retrieving their wounded brethren and returning to camp to be treated. When he shifted, a woman rushed over to bind his wounds, but he brushed her off impatiently.
“Volcant!” he snapped.
The dragon was soon at his side.
“Send a message to the enemy camp. I offer a forty-eight-hour peace for them to collect their dead and wounded, and recover from their injuries.”
Volcant’s eyes widened. Forty-eight hours was more than merciful.
“Do it!” Indulf growled at him, and he stepped a little closer.
“Your Grace… Indulf.” Volcant laid a hand on his shoulder. “You cannot offer a traitor mercy. They will only see it as weakness and use it to attack you once more.”
He was quite right. Indulf knew that. They were traitors, not kin. Men who wanted to see him die. He couldn’t assume they would show any goodwill toward him. He couldn’t assume that there would be a peaceful ending to this. And yet…
“He’s my son, Volcant,” he whispered. “And I will give mercy to whomever I want. Send the message.”
Volcant sighed, but nodded. As he strode off, Indulf gestured for the woman to return to tending his wounds. His heart sunk, and bitter tears pressed against his eyes. For a wild moment, all he wanted was for Anna to be with him, to bury his face into her shoulder and allow these twisting emotions release. But she wasn’t here, and he could not show weakness.
He could not be weak.