A Tale of Two Dragons

“Oh, no you don’t,” a male said. He didn’t seem to care what she’d done to his comrade.

Braith tried to grab something she could hold on to, but her talons tore through nothing but dirt and stone.

She was yanked back to the Lightning and, desperate, she kicked out, hitting him in the chest. With an “oof!” he flew back several feet, and Braith tried again to get to her claws.

“Get that one!” someone yelled, and Braith knew they were talking about her.

Addolgar slid down the wall and landed on his ass. He could already hear his father telling him this was his fault because he wasn’t paying attention! And knowing the old bastard was right, yet again, did nothing but piss Addolgar off.

An ax head slipped under Addolgar’s chin and lifted. “Hello there, darlin’,” the Lightning taunted. “Those females leave you in here to protect you from the big, bad Northlanders?”

“Poor thing,” another one tossed in as the ten or so Lightnings laughed. “What should we do with him?”

“Make it quick, I think. Wouldn’t be right to let him linger in shame.”

A clawed foot was placed against Addolgar’s shoulder to keep him sitting up and the dragon pulled his ax back, readying to swing and remove Addolgar’s head. A part of his body he was quite attached to.

“Give us your name, darlin’,” the Lightning told him, “so we can tell the females we take that you died with your head up.”

“Name’s Addolgar the Cheerful,” Addolgar replied over the hearty laughter of the Lightnings.

“What a lovely name. It’ll look good on your funeral pyre.”

Then Addolgar added, “Of the Cadwaladr Clan.”

The ax, in mid-swing, stopped and the laughter died. The moment lasted no more than two, maybe three, seconds, but that was all Addolgar needed. He grabbed the claw pressed against his shoulder and yanked the Lightning down and close, their snouts inches from each other.

“Nice to meet ya, daaaaarlin’,” Addolgar shot back, mimicking the Lightning’s accent. Then he snatched the ax from the Lightning’s claw and rammed the blade into his neck. Blood spurted and Addolgar got up, bringing the Lightning with him. The ax had only gone in halfway, so the Lightning was still putting up a bit of a fight, but it was easy enough to hold on to him, which Addolgar did.

“Now, let’s be clear, shall we?” He pulled the ax out of the dragon he held in his claws, and placed the blood-covered weapon on the ground beside him. “There’s only one way this can go, darlin’s,” Addolgar teased. “You know it.... I know it.”

And to prove it, Addolgar put his claws into the wound and proceeded to tear the screaming head of the Lightning the rest of the way off until he stopped screaming.

Addolgar dropped the body and held the head in one claw while he grabbed the weapon with the other.

“So, darlin’s . . . what’s your pleasure?”

That’s when they all charged Addolgar at once.

Braith scrambled a few feet away from the one who’d grabbed her leg and then dived the rest of the way to get her hammer.

She’d just wrapped her claws around the handle when her legs were grabbed again and she was dragged back. Once she stopped, Braith flipped onto her back and raised her hammer in time to block the sword trying to cut off her wing. She shoved, pushing the sword away from her, and rammed the head of her weapon into the Lightning’s chest. He lurched back and looked down at what was now a concave pit where his ribs used to be.

He lifted his gaze to Braith and raised his claw. “Please—” he managed to squeak out, but Braith ignored his plea, running forward and bringing the hammer down on the Lightning’s head. He dropped to his knees, his head flat, his neck compressed.

Panting, Braith sensed there were more Lightnings behind her and she spun around, now ready to fight. But it wasn’t Lightnings; it was her three aunts, watching her while the cousins fought alongside their own daughters and nieces.

“Wait . . .” Braith took a breath, tried to understand. “You didn’t help me?”

“We wanted to see if you could help yourself,” Crystin explained. “And you did. Nice one, niece.”

“Nice . . . ? Are you . . . ? You . . . you treacherous cows!”

“Where’s the loyalty?”

“Shut up!”

“Oy!” a male voice called from outside the cavern. The sound of it was so disconcerting, all of Braith’s kin and the Lightnings stopped fighting, and Braith and her aunts walked toward the cave opening.

An older Lightning who was missing the scales and skin on the left side of his face so it seemed like he was perpetually smiling, stood in front of the cave opening, his gaze hungrily examining Braith’s kin.

“Southland females,” he growled out, and that’s when Braith realized he was also missing the scales and skin on the right side of his neck. The area was so damaged, his words seemed to be torn from his throat. “There is no need to fight us. To risk your lives. Come with us now of your own free will and we swear on our honor that we won’t harm you. We’ll take you to our land and treat you like the queens you are.” His expression turned hard, even while it still looked like he smiled. “But fight us now—and your regret will be great.”

“Take our wings, will you?” Owena asked him. “I thought you lot didn’t do that anymore.”

“We do what we must. Now come. Join us, so we can stop all this fighting. We’d hate to risk so much . . . beauty.”