Light My Fire

Gavrilovich nodded. “Morn.”

“We were wondering if you saw a man and a woman passing this way. Nothing’s wrong, of course, but our local priest would like to spend some time with them.”

Gavrilovich shrugged. “Sorry. We haven’t seen anyone coming this way in days.”

“All right,” the knight said, his smile never fading. It was so bright, it nearly blinded poor Gavrilovich’s eyes. “Well, thank you for your help. Good day to you, mighty Rider. May death find you well.”

Gavrilovich watched the Protectors ride off, muttering under his breath, “And may death find you.”

“Why did you not tell them about the Black Bear Rider and her oversized slave?” his brother asked.

“We tell them nothing about the people of the Steppes.” He turned in his saddle and looked right at his men. “Ever. I never trust anyone who smiles that much.”

“It’s like looking at the suns,” his cousin grumbled.

“Now come,” Gavrilovich ordered. “We still have to check the rest of the line and then I have to get back to pick up my girls from battle practice.” He glanced at his brother. “The youngest is only ten passing summers and they’re already doing well.”

“Of course. They have shoulders like their mother—and short tempers like bulls raging in field. How could you not be proud?”

The farther they traveled through the Outerplains that day, the more Celyn had to admit that he knew nothing about this territory.

Any time he’d cut through the land, whether it was with human armies or dragon, he’d always gone through the narrow eastern part on the other side of the Conchobar Mountains. It was a much shorter trip and had some farms, a few towns, and definitely forests. One of Rhiannon’s sisters lived a nice, quiet life in that area. And even when marching as human, it took very little time to get to the Northlands through there.

Yet the farther west they traveled through the Outerplains, the fewer trees—and the ones they saw were more like sturdy bushes—and the more grasslands they rode through. It was, as Elina had said, beautiful country.

But like most truly beautiful things, heartless. Living out here was clearly not for the weak. One could travel for leagues and see nothing but grassy stretches of nothingness. Even the mountains that appeared so close turned out to be far away, almost as if they moved back if anyone came near.

To travel this land, alone or with others, year-round, season after season . . . Celyn couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine seeing nothing but miles of grassland; feeling nothing but the brutal Steppes winds rushing by; hearing nothing but the occasional hawk cawing in the distance.

They did pass a few travelers, but other than a head nod, there was little communication.

No. Celyn couldn’t do it. He couldn’t live out here. He’d thought the Northlands were bad with their snow and so few females to keep him warm, but he’d been wrong. At least there he’d eventually find a town. A town that had a pub. There’d be ale and warmth. There’d be talk. Lots of it, even if it was the guttural, low conversation of a Northlander.

But even that was better than this.

Gods, anything was better than this.

Celyn’s roar echoed out over the Steppes, and the horse Elina rode immediately stopped. The horse didn’t panic. At least not like Celyn’s horse, which reared up at his master’s sudden explosion, almost unseating the dragon.

Elina turned in her saddle. “What?”

“How do you stand this?” the dragon demanded, barely managing to keep control of that panicked travel-cow he rode.

“Stand what?”

“The silence! No people! Nothing! There’s been nothing! I feel like we’ve been traveling in this hell for days!”

“It has been one hour since we left camp.”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

With a sad shake of her head, Elina turned back around and set off again.

“That is not an answer, woman!”

He’d been forced to travel that hellscape for a whole entire day before they finally set up camp that night. At least then Celyn had been able to talk to Elina until his throat was raw, which was about the time she’d pounced on him, pinning him to the ground with her naked body and begging him to, “Shut up. By all the horse gods in all the worlds, shut up!”

That order had led to a lusty bout of more naked wrestling, something he was enjoying more and more each night he spent with her.

Then, finally, sleep. Until he woke up to hear Elina crying out.

When Celyn opened his eyes, he was already standing, his sword clutched in his hand, his human body in the first battle stance he’d ever learned from his mother. Ghleanna would be proud of how well she’d taught him all those years ago when he was still a hatchling, hanging from her tail.

But, when Celyn finally realized where he was and what was going on, he saw that they were alone and safe, but Elina was having one hells of a dream.

Naked, she’d tossed her fur covering off her body and was sweating, despite the wicked cold of the Steppes. Her arms swung and batted, as if she was trying to ward off something terrible.

Celyn dropped his sword and crouched at her side.

“Elina,” he said, stroking her shoulder. “Elina! Wake up!”

She did, still screaming. Almost begging. And, when she saw Celyn over her, she did something quite shocking.

She threw herself into his arms, her entire body shaking—which he sensed was not from the cold.