Slayer (7 page)

Without thinking, Brea reached for her sword, but her scabbard was empty. “Where’s my sword?”

“Ah, it’s been put away for safekeeping.” Cahill eased his grip on her to unbuckle his saddlebag. He pulled the small sword out of the bag, but before passing it to Brea, added, “I trust you won’t try to impale me with it.”

“Only if I’m provoked.”

His lips twitched at her comment. “Was I right? Is it three?”

“You’re close,” Brea said as seriously as she could. Then she ran her thumb up and down the rough notches in the handle and passed the blade back to Cahill haft first. “Count the notches.”

He accepted the blade and started to count. Brea watched with amusement as his brows slowly drew closer and closer together across his forehead. Finally he looked up at her, his expression one of incredulity. “Impossible.”

Brea shrugged.

“There is no way you’ve slain twenty-two dragons.”

“Actually,” Brea said with a finger tapping her lips in thought, “it’s twenty-three. I didn’t get a chance to notch the last one before I was attacked.” Brea put her hand out for her sword, and Cahill returned it to her without a word. She slid it into the scabbard strapped to her back and then flipped her good leg back over the horse’s neck so that she was once again facing forward.

Cahill remained silent for the remainder of the ride. Even his grip on her loosened to the point that Brea could have slipped between his grasp and slid off the horse. But she wasn’t about to do that. There was no reason to escape now. She was a dragon slayer and there was a horde of the nasty beasts that required her attention. She was so intent on the pending battle, imagining her blade penetrating a host of yellow eyeballs, that nothing could distract her, not her throbbing thigh, not Cahill’s warm body. Well, almost nothing. Brea was still aware of Cahill’s breadth, but his strength no longer troubled her as much as it had. In fact, Brea felt so comfortable, so certain of herself, that she forgot everything and nestled her head against Cahill’s shoulder and promptly fell into a deep sleep.

When Brea awoke, it was to that unnerving, panicky feeling of having no idea where she was. The steady gait of the horse no longer moved beneath her. In fact, she was not sitting, she was lying down, on a pile of furs no less. Brea sat up, automatically reaching for her dagger. But of course it was gone.

“Ah, you’re awake. Just in time for the evening meal.”

Brea spun around at Cahill’s voice and found him watching her from a stool beside a table. On the table lay maps and beside that dishes that still steamed with the aroma of meat and turnips.

Gingerly, Brea pushed herself up and approached.

“Don’t worry,” Cahill assured her, “I’ve already tasted everything. Nothing’s been poisoned.”

Brea rolled her eyes. She reached across the table for a roll and split it open with her fingers. Then she dipped the roll in the steaming stew and ate. It was delicious.

“Please sit.” Cahill motioned to a stool across from him.

Brea sat and ate, not knowing when she’d enjoyed a meal more. Fresh air always did that to her appetite. “Where are we?” she asked through a mouthful of food.

“The royal lodgings,” Cahill said. “I know it’s not much, but it’s better than where the troops are quartered and certainly more preferable than a ditch.”

“I prefer the ditch,” Brea muttered as she reached for a flagon of ale. Then she cleared her throat and said, “You know what I mean. Where are we? How far are we from the horde?”

“We’re camped outside of Lumbreck, a half-day’s journey from the border, where the dragons attacked two days ago.”

“Have you received any news from your scouts?”

“No. But I expect to hear something any minute.”

Brea nodded and Cahill turned back to the maps spread out upon the other half of the table. Brea helped herself to another serving of stew, this time eating more slowly and enjoying the flavors. After a few minutes, Cahill’s valet bowed through the door and removed the empty dishes.

Brea had to admit that there was something nice about going to battle as royalty. Hot food, warm bedding, servants. “Well,” Brea said as she pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you for the meal. I’ll be on my way.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cahill asked, looking up from the maps.

“To my tent.”

“
This
is your tent.”

“Oh. But where are you staying?”

“Here.”

With her hands on her hips, Brea shook her head. “I can’t stay here with you.”

“There are few options.”

“Few options means there are more than one. I want to hear the alternative to staying alone in a tent with you.”

Cahill sighed. “Your only other option is to camp amongst the soldiers where you will be unprotected and likely molested.”

“I think I’ll take my chances with the soldiers,” Brea said as she turned to go.

With a loud smack, Cahill pounded the table, “Dammit, woman, what is wrong with you? What do you take me for? An ogre?
I
will not molest you.
I
will not take advantage of you. You have my word.”

“Your word,” Brea spat. “What is that worth?”

Cahill stood so suddenly he knocked his stool flying. He stalked Brea like a mountain lion advancing on a young fawn. “My word is everything,” he seethed. “I am an honorable man, Brea, and I do not take kindly to such insults on my character.” He did not stop his approach until he towered over her, making Brea feel both small and insignificant. Then Cahill took a deep breath and a reluctant step back. His smile did not reach his eyes. “This tent is big enough for the both of us. I will not compromise you.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” He paused and his smile grew. “I will not seduce you, Brea…unless of course you want me to.”

“See!” Brea pointed at him. “That! What you did just there. Those innuendos. That’s seduction! You’ve proven over and over again that you can’t be trusted.”

In one step, Cahill stood chest-to-chin with Brea. He wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her against him. In a low voice, he whispered in her ear, “Truly, Princess, you need a lesson in seduction. I am only engaging in courtly banter.” He traced her jaw with the tip of his finger. “The fact that my banter bothers you tells me that you take my innuendos seriously.” He cocked his head to the side, “Tell me, Brea, who is it that you don’t trust? Is it me…or is it you?”

Before Brea could answer, the door to the tent swung open and the valet stepped through. “The scouts have arrived, Your Highness, and the officers are gathering to hear the news.”

Cahill released Brea and turned back to the table to gather the maps. “Please make yourself comfortable, Princess.” Then he pushed the flap at the door and ducked out.

Brea watched him go, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. She couldn’t stop thinking about Cahill’s question. Who was it that she didn’t trust? Was it him or was it her?

“I’m coming too,” Brea insisted.

“Stop it, Brea, and I mean it. You sound like a petulant child.” Brea stamped her foot, and Cahill turned to her with a single brow raised as if to say, “You see?” But what he said instead made Brea even angrier. “If you want to be of use, help me with my armor.”

Picking up the nearest weighty object, a clay jug, Brea flung it at Cahill’s head. He ducked just in time, and the urn thudded heavily to the ground. “Men!” Brea fumed and then pushed her way out of the tent. The morning sun had yet to burn the moisture from the ground and pockets of mist clung to low-lying depressions, giving the perfect cover for hunting dragons. If the hunters knew what they were doing, that was.

The telltale sounds of battle preparation met Brea’s ears as she wandered through the camp. Steel against steel, steel against stone, as last minute sharpening of weapons took place—probably more out of nerves than necessity—steel against leather as swords were sheathed and unsheathed. Conversation was at a minimum, none of the raucous laughter of the night before, and even the horses shifted peculiarly as they sensed the tension in the camp. A familiar whinny brought Brea up short.

“Elrond!” she said with a smile as she patted the horse’s nose. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” The horse nuzzled her hair and whickered softly.

“Was this your horse, Highness?”

Brea turned and recognized the rider from the day before. “Yes. What’s your name, soldier?”

“Bailey.”

With a nod, Brea said, “Listen, Bailey. There’s something you should know about Elrond. When you’re hunting dragons he’s trained to—”

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” Bailey interrupted. He ignored any further instruction from her as he stepped into the stirrup and mounted the horse. Before he rode away he said, “A token, Princess?”

“How about some spit in the eye?” Brea mumbled beneath her breath. Then she forced a smile and pointed at her unconventional attire and said, “I have nothing to give but words of encouragement. Fight well, Bailey.”

He touched a hand to his sword and then turned Elrond and kicked him into a trot to catch up with the forming ranks.

“Idiot,” Brea muttered as she watched Bailey join ranks. Then she started to follow the company on foot as they moved slowly down into an open field. “You’re all a bunch of overblown, armor-clad, sword-wielding idiots!” The battle drums sounded and banners waved in the morning breeze and Brea grumbled under her breath. Who did they think they were going to battle with? A neighboring kingdom? This was not the way to fight dragons. All that noise, all those horses? It would only serve to attract dragons and incite them into a feeding frenzy.

A lone tree stood atop a knoll overlooking the field and soldiers below. It would be the perfect place to watch the massacre and, though climbing sent sparks of pain down her leg, Brea didn’t pay much attention. Once securely seated in an upper branch, Brea waited, as did the soldiers. The sun rose and burned off the morning dew. It was going to be a hot day. Excellent weather for dragons—the beasts preferred to attack in the heat. The sunshine was dreadful for soldiers who were already sweating in heavy armor and would be looking directly into the sun, battling dragons from above.

From the south, a strange black vee darkened the horizon. Brea watched with horrified fascination as the dragons drew near. She’d never seen anything like it. A horde of dragons, flying in formation. Even from this distance, their angry squawks filled the air, their stench burned her nostrils. Within too short a time, the dragons were upon them, circling the field and the soldiers below. The futility of the company’s arrows brought a lump to Brea’s throat. She shut her eyes when she heard the first burst of flames and the screams of agony from the men and horses.

A sob tore through her chest, and Brea pressed her hands to her ears. Behind her closed lids she did not see a company of soldiers—she saw a crumbling castle, she watched as her three younger sisters and her four older ones ran for cover, but there was no cover to be had. Her mother fleeing with the new babe cradled in her arms, blackened with one breath of a damnable beast, the baby charred into a lump of coal in her mother’s singed arms. Her father, sword in hand, doing all he could to save his family. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

With tears streaming down her face, Brea swung down from the branch and jumped the remaining three feet to the ground. She didn’t even notice the searing pain in her leg as she ran, hobbling, back to camp. It was one thing to fight dragons. It was quite another to watch. Brea would be a spectator no longer.

The rest of the day was spent in preparation. She sharpened her sword herself, gathered arrows and fitted them with strips of cloth. She scoped out the surrounding landscape, devising battle plans in her mind, all the while trying, without success, to ignore the sounds of anguish from the battlefield. Her only consolation was that if there were still men to feel pain, there were still men who were fighting.

Brea stopped and lifted her face to the sky, sending a silent prayer that one of those men still fighting would be Cahill.

It was the silence that alerted Brea to the end of the battle and had her scrambling out of the tent. With a hand to her forehead, she searched the sky, but only benign clouds floated overhead. The dragons were gone. Limping as quickly as she could, she hurried toward the field, but the soldiers were already returning. What was left of them. Comrades leaned upon comrades. Others had bodies lying limp in front of saddles. Beyond the sad procession Brea could make out wisps of smoke where piles of the dead smoldered on the field.

In her panic to spot the prince, Brea nearly missed him. The plumage atop his helmet was singed beyond recognition; he dragged his feet like the two horses he led, one of which was piled high with injured men.

“Cahill!” Brea shouted and rushed to him.

Cahill barely acknowledged her. He handed her the reins to one of the horses and instructed her to take the wounded to the surgeon’s tent. It took her a moment to realize the horse carrying the burden was Elrond. He hung his head next to hers as if in apology and Brea patted him and whispered soothing words into his tired ears.

When she returned to the tent, she found Cahill sitting on the stool, staring blank-eyed into space. She didn’t think he noticed her until he said, “You can have your horse back.”

Brea sucked in a breath. “Bailey?”

Cahill turned his empty eyes on her. “He’s alive. But he refuses to ride a horse that’s afraid of dragons.” Cahill studied her, and Brea watched as all the emotions of the day flitted across his face. Suddenly he was on his feet. “What kind of dragon slayer has a horse that is afraid of dragons? Tell me that?”

But Cahill wasn’t the only one with battle scars. Brea had watched and listened all day and her own emotions ran raw. “Afraid of dragons! You idiot!” She stormed up to Cahill and gave him a good hard shove. “Elrond is not afraid, he’s
trained
to stay back unless I call him. What kind of fool takes horses into battle with dragons? Do you know nothing about the beasts?”

Brea found herself in a staring match with Cahill. Sparks of anger, hatred and humiliation flew between them. It was Cahill who blinked first. “If you know so much about dragons, why don’t you enlighten me?” His voice shook with barely concealed rage.