How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (8 page)

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Authors: G. A. Aiken

BOOK: How to Drive a Dragon Crazy
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Chapter 7
The flint axe came down hard, smashing another human’s head. The Leader felt nothing as he did it. These humans were nothing to him other than more skin to make into his kilts, more teeth to give his favorite breeder, and more blood to make his ale.
He’d brought his troops to this human village looking for food, breeders, and slaves. They’d done well this hunting season, cutting through this swath of countryside, leaving a trail of blood, death, and misery behind. That’s what he did best. What he enjoyed doing every season.
But then those human troops had shown up and he’d moved inside this cave, sending out his fighters to engage the humans. When that grew boring, he’d sent out one of the stupider fighters to pretend to be him. That one would die and then, when the human soldiers thought the worst of it was over, he’d reemerge and finish them. A good plan, even had a human to help because they’d given him some gold. Gold only meant something to humans; it meant nothing to ogres. Only meat and blood and death meant anything to them. Only battle and war meant anything to the mighty ogres.
His plan had been working well, too, but then that traitor was found out and the human soldiers had tracked the rest of his troops to these caves.
But he had no intention of dying now. Not at the hands of these weak humans with their fragile skin, tiny size, and fancy armor and weapons. True warriors didn’t need all that armor to cover their body. True warriors fought without it.
“Blood Leader!”
The Leader looked up to see a human female walking toward him. She’d used his proper title in his language to call his attention. She wore little armor but had many fancy weapons. She was tall for a female but brown of skin. Strange. He’d never seen that before. But she was sturdy, strong. She’d make a good breeder.
Too bad he’d have to kill her instead.
The Leader lifted his axe and challenged with a nod of his head. The human strode toward him, short sword brandished; then she was charging him flat out.
Lip curling, the Leader swung his flint axe. The woman, fast considering her size, ducked his weapon and came charging at him again. She made no sound as she charged—no warning battle cry, no scream of rage. She simply ran at him with her short sword at the ready.
He swung the axe again, but the woman leaped up, her foot colliding with his chest. She shoved herself off and spun, bringing the sword around and down against his neck. The woman was surprisingly strong, her sword cutting past thick green skin and taut, layered muscle, burying itself there.
The Leader staggered, his blood spurting from the wound. But he wasn’t dead. Not yet. Not for quite a while. It took much effort to kill his kind, but he sensed she already knew that. Knew this wouldn’t be an easy fight.
Ahhhh. A true challenge. How nice.
He lifted his mighty flint axe. This axe was only wielded by the leader of the tribes and he was the leader. The strongest, the meanest. He’d made sure everyone knew that when he’d eaten his firstborn whole. It had proved his point and had been no great loss. It had been a female after all. Just another breeder.
How could killing this human be any harder?
His axe was coming down again, aimed for the human woman’s head, but as he nearly reached her, she raised her arm, caught hold of his weapon’s handle and held it.
She held it. Held him. Growling, he tried to pull the axe from her, but she held it. He knew he hadn’t weakened that much. Not enough that this human
female
could stop him from holding on to his weapon. The weapon that made him the Leader. But she held tight, eventually yanking it away.
The Leader reached for her with his bare hands, enraged that she’d dare take his axe. But she stepped to the side and swung the axe up, over, and down, cutting off his arm that was closest to her.
The Leader gazed down at where his arm used to be, and that’s when she kicked him in the back of the leg and dropped him to his knees.
Around him, he could hear his troops dying, screaming to their gods. He’d give these humans none of that from him. Not now, not ever.
The human stepped close, studied him. The Leader sat back on his heels, his life’s blood pouring out of him.
She lifted her booted foot, pressed it against his chest and shoved him to the ground.
“You can’t be that big a fool,” he snarled at her in his language, knowing she’d understand. “To think I’d die so easy.”
With the arm he still had left, he reached over and grabbed a club from the body of one of his dead. Grabbed it and was swinging it toward her with the intent to break her leg and then her head.
But something wrapped around her waist. Something long and scaled and blue. One second she was above him, raising his own axe to finish him off, the next she was pulled away and the Leader looked up into the face of the biggest dragon he’d ever seen. He didn’t know there were dragons that big.
The beast took a big breath in and even before the flames covered his body, he knew
this
would be the thing that killed him.
The flames burned hot and removed his flesh and muscle and, as darkness surrounded him and the dying screams of his troops filled the cavern, the Leader heard the dragon say to the human female, “So can we go back
now
?”
 
 
As soon as Izzy’s feet touched the ground, Brannie quickly threw her arms around her cousin and held her. She held her tight because she knew that Izzy killing Éibhear probably wouldn’t be overlooked by the rest of the family. Most likely.
Although Brannie knew for a fact that her mum, Ghleanna the Decimator, would completely understand when she found out that Éibhear had gotten between a warrior female and a kill. There were just some things one didn’t do among the Cadwaladrs and that was a big one.
But Brannie understood that Éibhear was too self-absorbed to have a death wish, so there had to be another reason he was doing all this.
Determined to find out what that was, Brannie carried Izzy away from Éibhear and the other Mì-runach. She stopped by Fionn, Izzy’s next in command. When she released her, Brannie immediately saw that Izzy was way beyond mere anger. She could tell because Izzy hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t done anything. She was simply standing tall and straight like a statue. Not a good thing. The last time Brannie had seen Izzy act like that, an entire army had been wiped out. It hadn’t been pretty then, and it wouldn’t be pretty now to see the same thing happen to blood kin, so Brannie knew she had to handle this.
 
 
Something strong and powerful grabbed Éibhear by the hair and yanked him around.
“What the bloody hells are you up to?”
Éibhear gazed at the female cousin yelling at him. “Did you just do that?” he asked, fascinated.
“Who else?”
“Gods, you’re strong. Ever think of joining the Mì-runach?”
“Unlike you lot, I actually obey orders from all my commanding officers, not just my queen. So I don’t think I’ll fit in too well.”
“We follow orders from our commanding officers,” Aidan argued while squeezing the head of an ogre until it popped like a grape. “Or at least from Angor. We simply do it in our own time and in our own”—he shook his claw to get rid of the ogre blood and flesh—“way.”
“Fascinating,” Brannie sneered before turning away from Aidan. “I asked you a question, cousin. Now answer it.”
Huh. His cousin had grown pushy over the years. He might find that annoying at some point.
“I have a duty to get her home,” he said.
“By getting in her way?”
“She’s being difficult. If she’d just do what I told her to . . .”
Branwen held up her hand. “Just so you know,” she said, “you sound exactly like your father.”
Hurt, Éibhear asked, “Why are you being so mean?”
“Because that’s exactly how you’re acting. You’re following right behind him. Just like your brothers did. You going to demand a blood debt now, too, just like Briec did with Izzy’s mum?”
Éibhear thought a moment and asked, “If I do what do I get out of it?”
She reached for his hair again, but Éibhear stumbled back, warding her off with his claws. “All right. All right, I was just kidding.”
“What do you really want, Éibhear?”
“Just to take her home. That’s what I committed to.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “And a chance to say I’m sorry.”
“This Celyn shit?
Again?
”
“I promise, I’m not here for that. I swear,” he insisted when her eyes narrowed. “I just want to say I’m sorry and be done with it.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. Talk to her for me?” He lowered his head a bit, fluttered his eyes. “Please?”
“Och. That was just appalling, Éibhear. Although you’re obviously
not
following in Gwenvael’s footsteps because
he
could have pulled that off!”
 
 
Brannie stomped back to Izzy’s side, her tail impaling fleeing ogres as she passed. She’d shifted when she’d gone to find Éibhear. Not for safety from the ogres but because she wanted to look him in the eyes when she spoke to him.
Once near Izzy, Brannie shifted to human and grabbed the clothes she’d left at her cousin’s feet, quickly pulling them on.
“Well?” Izzy demanded before Brannie even got her leggings on.
Brannie glanced up, her lips slowly curling into a smile.
“What?”
Grabbing her chain-mail shirt, Brannie stood tall, slipping her arms inside the protective garment. “His orders are to get you home. And, as Mì-runach, he’s committed to that. There’ll be no deterring him.”
“Why are you smiling?”
She pulled the shirt over her head and down her torso. “He also would like to take this opportunity to apologize.”
Confused, Izzy asked, “Apologize? For what?” When Brannie’s smile only grew . . . “Good gods! That was ages ago.
Ages!
”
Brannie, now dressed, retrieved her weapons. Laughing, she said, “I know. But for some reason he feels the need to say it.”
“After all this time?”
“No matter his royal lineage, cousin, Éibhear the Contemptible is still a Cadwaladr male in his heart . . . his soul.”
“Which means what?” Izzy turned and used her long sword to impale an ogre that had been coming up behind her.
“It means that he won’t be satisfied until he gets what he wants.”
Wiping dark green blood from her face, she again faced her cousin. “To apologize? Can’t he just do that and go? I assure you I can make it to Garbhán Isle without his or his friends’ help.”
“Come, Izzy. You know better. You’ve lived among my brethren.” Brannie grabbed the blade from Izzy’s grasp and swiped it through the air. Izzy ducked, the blade missing her head by inches, but the ogre who’d been running up to them from the left was cut nearly in half from left hip to right shoulder. “You know the way of things, my cousin. An apology is only part of it. He seems to believe he wants forgiveness. That’s what I saw in his eyes.”
“And?”
She handed the blade back to Izzy. “And I say you give it to him.”
“And he’ll leave me be?”
“Oh, no.” Brannie giggled, sounding like a small child rather than the feared warrior dragon she’d grown into. “Ease is not something a Cadwaladr male understands or knows how to deal with . . . which is why you should give him as much ease and forgiveness as you can stomach.”
Izzy shook her head, her own smile blossoming. “You are a callous cow, Branwen the Awful. A cruel, callous cow . . . and I adore you like the suns.”
Branwen shrugged, black eyes twinkling, “And I you, cousin, for together we are a true blood-filled nightmare—which I find nothing but entertaining!”
 
 
Using his fist, Uther bashed ogres into flat green disks. It was fun and killed some time.
“There has to be an easier way for you to get women,” Aidan told Éibhear. Aidan was stepping on the ogres while Caswyn was swiping at them with his tail. But Éibhear was just standing there . . . waiting.
“What if she still says no?” Uther asked.
“We should just take her,” Caswyn offered.
Aidan stopped crushing ogres to ask, “Take Izzy the Dangerous?”
“We’re four dragons. She’s one human female. How much trouble can she be?”
Aidan smirked at Éibhear. “You’re a much better storyteller than I.”
Éibhear looked at Caswyn. “When Izzy was seventeen, she—with the slight help of her mother—killed Olgeir of the Olgeirsson Horde. When she was nineteen she fought against the Kyvich witches and lived to tell about it. When she was twenty-and-five, she survived in the Sovereign fighting pits and buried a dragon’s axe into the back of Overlord Thracius, one time ruler of the Irons.”

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