Last Dragon Standing

That was around the time Bampour pissed himself, but he felt no shame. He knew his men would always understand.

Chapter Two

General Addolgar walked through the camp set up outside the Western Mountains. For more than two years now, he, his sister Ghleanna, and the human troops and Dragonwarriors they led had been trying to tamp down the barbarian tribes raiding the towns around this area. And, until a few months ago, Addolgar would have said they were winning the fight. But something, something had changed.

He walked into his sister’s tent. Ghleanna sat at her desk, a mug of ale within arm’s reach but untouched—a rare thing for his sister—and her eyes focused across the room.

“Sister.”

“What is it, Addolgar?”

He stood in front of her, not wanting to tell her his news but knowing he couldn’t avoid it. “The unit I sent out. To that small village outside of Tristram. They just got back.”

“And?”

Addolgar shook his head.

Her eyes closed, and she let out a breath. “Damn.”

“I know.”

“They killed everyone?”

“Aye. Everyone.” Even the children. “You still think it’s the barbarians, sister?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s not, then who?”

Addolgar placed a coin on her desk. Found under one of the bodies in the village, its markings distinct, it spoke of enemies all the Southland dragons hoped they’d never hear from again. Ghleanna barely glanced at it.

“You can’t seriously think they’d dare.”

“We’d be fools to ignore this. We should send word and what we’ve found so far to Garbhán Isle.”

“Little soon for that kind of panic, isn’t it?”

“That’s not panic, sister. That’s prudent planning. Especially since you know as well as I do that”—he retrieved the coin and held it up for her to see—“they do like their misdirection. For all we know, these raids, these murders…could be just the beginning.”

Ghleanna stared up at him. “You, brother, are like a bright ray of sunshine in my life,” she told him flatly.

“And your happiness is my whole reason to live. Honestly. My concern keeps me up at night. Can’t you tell?” Because they left the Northlands quickly and the wind was with them, they arrived in the Outerplains early afternoon.

Still that was hours—gods, so many hours—of nonstop talk from one big, blue, idiot dragon. How old was he again? Eighty-nine? Ninety? Gods, it was time for him to grow up! Or shut up. Preferably both. Meinhard, who’d watched over the hatchling for the last two years to make sure he didn’t get himself accidentally killed during a battle, had become quite adept at tuning him out. And Vigholf seemed to enjoy how much he was annoying Ragnar, so he goaded the big bastard. If he stopped talking for five minutes, Vigholf would give him something else to go on about. And on he went. He only shut up when he ate or slept. Otherwise it was a never-ending stream of thought.

As the Dragon Queen had suggested, they’d stopped outside the town that belonged to Lord Bampour, and Ragnar sent Meinhard to investigate the surrounding area. When he returned, he said, “The queen may be right. We best walk it, cousin.”

“Why?”

“They’ve got more weapons and troops than I’ve seen in a long time manning the fortress walls. Weapons that can kill from a distance.” Ragnar frowned. “Do you think they’re expecting us?”

“No. Their weapons are pointed toward the inside of the town. But if they see us flying over…”

Ragnar agreed, glad the queen had warned him. “Good point. We’ll walk it.”

So they changed into chain-mail shirts and leggings, leather boots, and surcoats that bore the coat of arms for The Reinholdt—a little something Ragnar had taken from the human warlord on his many trips into that territory; something he’d never mentioned to the warlord’s daughter—and the four males pulled on capes with hoods that could be pulled low over their heads so as to hide their purple and, in the Southlander’s case, blue hair. Once they were ready, they headed into town. To Ragnar’s surprise, it wasn’t as busy as it usually was. Middle of the day and everything seemed to be closed down.

“Where is everyone?” Vigholf asked.

“I don’t know.”

Yet as Meinhard had said, there were troops manning the towers and fortress walls, but none of them even noticed Ragnar or his party. Unusual.

If their defenses were so heightened, he’d have thought they’d definitely stop and interrogate four large armed males.

The Blue pointed to a street that led all the way across town. “I hear people down there.”

As useless as he found the royal, he did have the best hearing of anyone Ragnar had known.

Vigholf stared down the street. “Should we go around?” Ragnar’s first thought was a definite yes, but…

“Let’s go see what’s going on. Be watchful. If the situation looks unstable, we leave. Quick and quiet.”

“What if they need our help?”

The three Northlanders turned and stared at the royal.

“If who needs our help?” Ragnar asked. “The humans?”

“Aye.”

“Why would we help them?” Ragnar had always considered himself quite benevolent for not simply crushing humans like ants when the mood struck him. And although he had to admit that some humans did serve a purpose, they didn’t serve enough of a purpose to get him to involve himself in some town drama.