About a Dragon

For once, Talaith found someone who made her speechless.

“I can poison him, if you wish. I’ve been trained to handle all sorts of poisons.”

“I want to see him suffer before he dies.”

“Annwyl,” Morfyd sighed out. “Seeing him die rather defeats the purpose of getting in, taking the girl, and getting out. I think our goal should simply be that we are not seen. Not how much more violent we can make the man’s death.”

“Morfyd’s right. Hamish has been shoring up his army for quite awhile now. With only three of us, we should err on the side of stealth.”

“Shoring up his army? For how long?”

Talaith reached back in her memory to when she began seeing more and more young recruits traipsing through the village on their way to Hamish’s castle. “Two years. Maybe a little more.”

“Interesting.”

“Well, what did you expect him to do, Annwyl?” Morfyd asked. “Wait for you to come and kill him? He knows you hate him.”

“I know. I’m just tired of waiting. I still say we should strike now.”

“You need more reason than theory.”

Annwyl rolled her eyes. “You and your bloody logic.”

“It’s why you have me around. That and no one else will put up with you.”

Pulling tight on her reins, Annwyl suddenly dragged her horse to a stop. She cocked her head to the side. “Do you hear it?”

Morfyd, briefly silent, nodded. “Aye. I do.”

“Where?”

“Annwyl, maybe we should—”

“Where?”

With a sigh, “There.” Morfyd pointed into the trees. “I think there’s a clearing on the other side.”

Annwyl turned her horse toward the forest and charged in.

“Damn her!”

“What is it?”

“A battle.”

Talaith blinked in surprise. “And she’s just going to—”

“Now you know my daily nightmare.”

“Well we can’t let her fight alone.”

“Not you too,” Morfyd groaned.

Talaith snorted. “If she’d asked, I would have suggested we ride on by. But since she’s already galloped in head first…”

“Aye.” Morfyd nodded. “You’re right.”

The two women turned their horses and followed the Blood Queen into battle.

* * *

“Stay!” Achaius pushed her back, forcing her behind a tree. It wouldn’t do much good. They were horribly outnumbered by the men who attacked their small party. Only her and the three men who gave up their homes and army life to protect her. It wasn’t the first time her Protectors had battled others in order to keep her safe. But this was the first time they’d come face to face with those they’d once called comrades.

Crouching low, she looked out over the field of battle and winced as her Protectors barely blocked blows aimed for their head or hearts. But as she began to fear all was lost and her friends doomed to a bloody death, she saw her.

A beautiful and scarred warrior woman rode on an enormous black stallion, two swords strapped to her back. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and stared out over the battle. She didn’t move until she saw the crest on the enemy soldiers’ surcoats. Then with a blood-chilling scowl, she tied the reins to her saddle, ripped the two swords out of their scabbards and kicked her horse into a fierce gallop. As she rode, she steered only with her knees and took heads as she went. One after another after another after another.

While her Protectors stayed out of the warrior woman’s way, the soldiers screamed warnings at each other and that’s when they focused their attack directly on the warrior woman. Foolish move. She wasn’t alone. Two other women rode to the edge of the clearing. Unlike the first, these two wore capes, their faces and bodies hidden. The taller one stayed on her mare. A witch, that one, as she raised her hands and white-hot flames flew from her palms. The men charging the witch turned into a writhing ball of fire.

The other, smaller one, slipped off her horse and silently moved up behind one of the soldiers. One hand under his chin, his head lifted, a blade across his throat. She went from soldier to soldier doing that until seven of them lay at her feet. By then, the others had noticed her too, so she crouched low as two soldiers charged her. One she sliced his inner thighs open. He screamed hysterically as blood flowed. With the other, the small woman removed another blade from the belt around her hips and threw it, lancing his eye like an egg. He dropped his weapon and screamed while covering his face. She cut his throat as she passed him.

So fascinated by the three women fighting on their side, clearly sent by her god, she didn’t realize anyone was behind her until the smaller female yelled, “Down!”

She dropped to her knees, her arms covering her head. She heard the soldier above her garble a parody of a pain-filled scream, then fall next to her. Slowly, she looked over. A dagger with a plain, leather-wrapped hilt stuck from his mouth.

“Stay in that position and I’m sure those soldiers will find many uses for your ass.”

A brown hand appeared before her, the fingers slender and delicate. A few calluses from hard work. She recognized those hands. She’d seen them in visions.

“You going to stare at it or are you going to take my hand?”

Shaking, she removed her glove and put her hand in the woman’s outstretched palm. Her fingers were longer than the woman’s, her hand stronger. She had her father’s hands and his eyes. She got her mother’s face and, supposedly, her acid tongue.