How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
The stranger picked up the head by its hair and held it high for all of them to see, slowly turning once so they could get a good look. Then he pitched it to the ground at the claws of the remaining Spikes, chuckling when the head bounced up and hit the Spike’s leader in the snout.
The stranger turned from the Spikes and faced Ragnar and his kin. Talons reached up and pulled the hood of the fur cloak from his head so that braided blue hair spilled out, pieces of leather and animal bone weaved throughout the strands. Just like the Ice Landers wore.
“Maybe this Ice Lander wants to immigrate,” Vigholf suggested. “Not that I blame him. . . . Are those bones in his hair on purpose?”
“I think so. Perhaps it’s a fashion thing. Like Keita and her dresses.”
“Maybe the Ice Landers make you wear bones in your hair.”
The Ice Lander walked over to Ragnar and stopped. “Oy.”
Surprised by his familiar tone, Ragnar frowned, but he quickly caught hold of Meinhard’s arm to stop his cousin from pulling his battle axe and chopping off the Ice Lander’s head for rudeness to the Dragonlord Chief.
“Yes?” Ragnar asked.
“Where’s my sister?”
Ragnar frowned again. “How the hells would I know?”
The Ice Lander blinked. “What did she do? Leave you?” He shrugged. “Well . . . you did last longer than most.”
Completely confused and annoyed, Ragnar released his cousin’s arm so that Meinhard could take the whelp’s head and they could finish this bloody battle with the bloody Spikes and get on with their bloody lives! But a female voice behind them stopped Meinhard from striking.
“Éibhear?”
Ragnar glanced back at Rhona the Fearless, Vigholf’s female, as she moved through the crowd of soldiers, removing the helmet she’d made herself as their lead blacksmith. Most blacksmiths didn’t involve themselves in battles, but Rhona was such a damn good soldier, Ragnar didn’t complain. Vigholf certainly didn’t either—he knew better.
“Éibhear’s here?” Vigholf asked. “Where?”
She pointed at the Ice Lander. “Right there.”
Shocked to his core, Ragnar looked first at his brother, then at his cousin . . . then at the boy. The useless, ridiculous, love-sick boy that they’d summarily dismissed, briefly respected, then had no longer been able to tolerate until the blue dragon’s father had him assigned to some other unit within the Dragon Queen’s army.
Mouth hanging open, Vigholf shook his head, and Meinhard muttered, “It can’t be.”
“Éibhear?” Ragnar asked again.
“Yeah. My sister?” he pushed.
“What?”
“Keita. Remember her? Gods, how long ago did she leave you?” he snapped, annoying Ragnar again. Rude whelp!
“She hasn’t left me, you worthless little sh—”
“Then where is she?”
Vigholf, his mouth still hanging open, pointed toward the mountains where they’d left Keita with a battalion of soldiers to protect her.
“Good.” Éibhear looked behind him. “Mì-runachs—with me.” He walked into the crowd of Northland soldiers, patting Rhona’s shoulder as he passed. Ragnar watched him for a long while until another Fire Breather dressed in the fashion of the Ice Lands stood in front of him. This one held out a blood-covered white dragon head to him. “You want this?”
Without thinking, Ragnar took the head of the one-time Spikes leader, wondering when the young leader had been killed, since less than a minute ago he’d been quite alive.
“You know the scariest part of all this?” Vigholf asked as he stepped aside to allow the three other Mì-runachs to follow Éibhear.
“What?”
“Since we last saw him, that blue bastard actually got bigger.”
Keita lay stretched out on the floor, a book on the topic of poisons in front of her. She went through each kind, trying to find which could best be used to poison the water supply of the Spikes. She longed to return to the warmth of her Southland home for a little holiday, but these constant battles with these ridiculous Ice Landers had made it impossible. Honestly, these Northerners! All they did was fight! Constantly! It was like living with her Cadwaladr kin all the time.
She turned another page. “Oooh,” she sighed, when she saw a root that might be perfect for what she needed. But before she could read further, she heard one of the soldiers who guarded her cavern give a warning cry, then the sounds of battle.
Keita quickly got to her claws and swiped up some Ved bark. If necessary, she could force it into a dragon’s mouth and end him quite quickly.
An Ice Land dragon stalked through the cavern entry.
“Keita,” he said, his voice indescribably low. She was shocked that he knew her name.
The dragon moved toward her, but she quickly raised her empty claw, halting him. “You’ll never take me alive!” Then she thought on that proclamation a bit and added, “All right. You can, of course, take me alive. But most importantly, try not to damage this face.” She lowered her head a bit and looked up through her lashes. “Or these beautiful fangs.” Then she smiled.
The dragon leaned back from her, a look of disgust on his face. At least, it looked like disgust. Hard to tell with all that blue hair in his face. Wait . . . shouldn’t his hair be whiter? Or silver? Or something that easily melded in with the snow-covered world of the Ice Lands?