How to Drive a Dragon Crazy

“But Izzy—”

“Is definitely no longer a child. Not anymore. So stop trying to protect her from your brother.”

Keita sat back on her haunches, crossed her forearms over her chest, and challenged, “And what makes you think it’s Izzy we’re protecting?”

The three Northland males smirked and Ragnar said with so much false innocence, her back fangs ached. “Oh . . . was that your concern?”

“Told you, cousin,” Rhona sighed, heading toward several crates of ale. “Bastards. All of ’em.”

Chapter 3

As human, in their Ice Land fur capes that hid their faces and chain-mail leggings and shirts, the four Mì-runach stood on the ridge overlooking the valley caught between a half-ring of mountains and a vast forest where a battle raged on.

“I didn’t know we’d have to fight our way in,” Aidan complained. “I was hoping we’d swoop in and swoop out.”

“That won’t be happening today.”

A battle cry sounded from beside them and Uther turned, gutting the male running at them with his blade and tossing the body back several feet.

Éibhear sighed. “That was one of Annwyl’s men.”

“Oh.” Uther shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Annwyl’s troops are in red and silver. The enemies are ogres, which means their skin is in varying shades of green and they’re not human. So it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.”

“Why are they fighting ogres?” Caswyn asked.

“Annwyl had to fight ogres once in a pit fight. Now she hates ogres.”

“Interesting woman, your human queen.”

Éibhear walked a bit until he found a path leading down the ridge and right into the battle. As they walked, not really engaging in the battle unless threatened, Aidan asked him, “So which one is the infamous Izzy?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“I can tell.” Caswyn stopped, pointed at a warrior woman riding on a black steed, her sword flashing as she gave orders to the men surrounding her.

Aidan laughed. “Not even close.”

“Why not? She looks like a proper soldier, leading a queen’s army into battle.”

“That’s the problem. Éibhear’s never been interested in anyone doing the ‘proper’ thing.”

“Then who?”

Aidan looked over the battle, then finally smiled and pointed. “Her.”

They all looked where he pointed, but all Éibhear could see was a group of ogres beating on something with their clubs. Then there was a scream and a shield came up from the center of those ogres, pushing them back. And from the midst of all that green flesh, she stood. Tall and proud. No longer the young girl he’d met so many years ago, nor the young soldier he’d walked away from.

Now she was something different. Scarred, bruised, and covered in blood, she shoved her long shield forward, knocking a few more ogres out of her way. From her left, another ogre swung at her. Izzy raised her arm, caught the club in her hand. Snarling, she yanked the weapon from the ogre and turned on him, kicking him in the gut. The shield was yanked from her, but that just freed her to grip the club in both hands. She swung it, knocking an ogre to the ground; then she brought the club up and over, bringing the spiked head of the weapon down onto the ogre’s face.

Screaming, she ripped the club out of the skull and took out another attacker. That’s when Caswyn looked at Éibhear. “Yeah. Aidan’s right. That’s gotta be her.”

Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec, Human Princess by Mating of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, and General of the Eighth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-sixth Legions of Annwyl the Bloody, Queen of Garbhán Isle and Dark Plains, ducked the flint axe swinging for her head and brought the club she held up between the legs of the ogre trying to kill her.

He squealed and dropped to his knees. Izzy tore the spiked club up and out of the ogre’s body, then brought it back down on his head, now that he was closer to her height.

It had been a bloody, ugly war for the last two months, but Izzy hoped an end was near because she believed she was finally getting her chance at the ogre leader. Once he was dead, the rest of his army would fall.

So she took down another ogre, ducked a flint axe aimed at her head, and crushed a kneecap with a well-placed kick, all in the hopes of finding that damn ogre leader.

“Iz!”

Izzy heard her dragon cousin’s screamed warning and was able to move out of the way in time to avoid the ogre attacking from behind, but the blade of his flint axe cut across her arm. The wound began to bleed almost immediately and she knew she’d have to get it sewn up. But she refused to worry about that now. Not with the ogre leader finally in her sights. She could see him about thirty feet away. So very close.

Izzy spun, swung the club, and slammed it into the neck of the bastard behind her as he tried to run away. He went down face first and Izzy pulled out her sword and rammed it into the back of the beast’s head.

“Izzy.”

She heard her name called again, this time by a much different voice from her cousin Branwen’s, but she had to ignore it as she was being attacked again. Gods, the ogres just keep coming.

She blocked the flint mace aimed for her face by using the club she still held in her left hand and cut the thick arteries inside the ogre’s thighs with her sword. She spun and slashed her sword again, cutting a throat, then spun again and swung, but her blade was stopped by an obscenely large battle axe. She knew the weapon was not an ogre’s. They only used flint weapons and although deadly were often crudely made. This was a well-made weapon forged by a true blacksmith.