Light My Fire

Glebovicha had made sure that no one feared Elina. She mocked her to any and all, telling them how weak and stupid and useless Elina was.

And thinking about that reminded Elina how hard it would be to get to the Anne Atli. Glebovicha would not want that. She probably would not allow it. But Elina was becoming more and more determined as time went on. She felt, deep in her bones, that it was necessary for her to help the dragons as much as she could.

No. Nothing would stop her. Not even Glebovicha.

Deciding not to think on it any longer, Elina again focused on what was going on inside the city.

Addolgar had the baron by his leg and was carrying him to the city’s gallows. There were no humans out on the streets now. No humans waiting by the gallows to see what would happen to their leader. Instead, they were hiding in their homes or in their gods’ temples. All of them praying that the dragons would just kill their leader and go on their way. None of them seemed ready to fight to protect anything. A desire Elina understood but didn’t exactly respect. What about their honor? Or the honor of their city? Or simply the honor of protecting their leader? Did none of that mean anything to these Southlander people?

Or was it the Southland people as a whole? Maybe it was just the people of this city who had no honor? Or perhaps they’d realized long ago that their baron wasn’t worth fighting for? The remainder of the city guards had not been killed, but none of them came out to help their baron either.

As always, Elina saw many sides to this debate and sadly . . . it was this ability that often got her into the most trouble with her people. Her people loved a good argument but only about silly things. Who made the best beer? Who could drink the most? Who was the best warrior? Who had the prettiest husbands?

Big questions like, “Are all Southlanders truly worthless, decadent, imperialist scum?” were answered one way and one way only: “Yes, they are!”

Celyn and his other cousins were already waiting at the gallows. A few dragons perched on the protective gate that surrounded the city. A gate that Elina’s people would have had no problem taking down.

Elina was impressed by how quickly Celyn’s nearby kin had rallied around him. A call had gone out and so quickly they’d been here, by his side, ready to help him in any way he might need. Elina thought of her own sister, Kachka, and wished she were here by her side. They always worked well together, her sister never pushing Elina to be more than she was.

“Your baron,” Celyn was saying to the people of the city, who were still in hiding, “killed one of our own. Not because he was a danger to all of you, because he wasn’t. The dragon who was killed was old. He liked nothing more than to sit in his cave, drink his favorite wine, and read. But your baron lied to you. He lied when he said that this old dragon was evil. That this old dragon had to be handled. And using that lie, he sent his guards and people from this city out to kill this old dragon and raid what had become his tomb.”

Celyn looked over the empty city, but he knew, as did Elina, that all the people were listening. Cowering and listening. “Now, because of his greed, Baron Roscommon has brought down the wrath of the dragons. Even worse, his betrayal would normally bring the wrath of Annwyl the Bloody. She asks for little from her fellow royals . . . except loyalty. Something Baron Roscommon did not give her. For that, he will be taken to Garbhán Isle to face his fate. Queen Annwyl will have her final say on Baron Roscommon. The dragon nation will not deny her that. As for the rest of you . . . you will suffer enough. Those who were sent to the dragon’s cave have experienced the old dragon’s fate.” And yes, the people were listening, because Elina could hear the cries of those who called those men family or friend. “That was their punishment, and their loss is yours. Tomorrow morning you may come and retrieve your dead. There will be no further retaliation, but understand our revenge could have been much worse. And, should something like this happen again, it will be.”

Finished with his speech, Celyn nodded at Addolgar and his uncle wrapped his claw around a now-screaming Baron Roscommon. He was ordering his people to kill the dragons. To save him. But no one came forward. No one dared.

Addolgar flew off, with Celyn following behind. The rest of his cousins soon followed, making sure everything was safe before they took to the skies.

Elina was about to climb down from the tree when a black-scaled tail wrapped around her waist and yanked her up.

Suddenly . . . she was flying.

Celyn landed near Costentyn’s cave. His uncle already had the threatening and begging and bloody sobbing baron bound and now, thankfully, gagged. As Celyn had promised, Addolgar and the others would be taking the baron back to Garbhán Isle to face Annwyl. No one envied the man that fate.

“Good work, lad,” Addolgar said when Celyn landed. “That was a nice speech you gave.”

“You sure we shouldn’t kill them all?” Addolgar’s son asked. There was no malice in his voice. No viciousness. Also, not much logic. Unlike his daughters, Addolgar’s sons didn’t have much logic.

“I’m sure,” Celyn insisted. “I’m sure the baron only picked the best men of the city to help in this crime. Trust me, the people will be feeling the loss of those men for quite some time.”

“He’s right,” Addolgar agreed. “We’ve made our point. No need to get nasty this early in the game. It’s always better to escalate only when necessary.” Addolgar faced Celyn. “And you, nephew. Are you coming with us?”