The Dragon Who Loved Me. G.A. Aiken

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СКАЧАТЬ the queen was planning an all-out assault on Quintilian, something Thracius hoped for since they’d be fighting on his territory rather than on hers. But that confrontation was put on hold for the queen had another problem—barbarian dragons from the north, the Lightnings. It had crossed Thracius’s mind to attack Dark Plains then, but he didn’t trust that the barbarians would automatically side with him. For enough gold or females to breed with—both of which the Southlanders had in abundance—the Lightnings could easily be bought. Besides, there was much to the west of the province that held his interest and Thracius had never been one to rush.

      Now, centuries later, they were no longer simply the Quintilian Province. That was just the main city of what was known as the Quintilian Sovereigns, and the empire’s territories stretched for thousands and thousands of leagues in all directions.

      All directions, but one.

      But that would change soon enough for at this moment her father and his vast army fought the current Dragon Queen’s armies and the barbarian Hordes in Euphrasia Valley while Laudaricus’s human armies fought the armies of Annwyl the Bloody, Queen of Garbhán Isle, in the Western Mountains.

      The two-prong attack would be quite effective, especially with the enemy armies not having nearly as many troops as the Irons.

      Columella, one of Vateria’s four sisters, posed for Vateria in her dark red tunic. “What do you think?”

      “You look well enough, I suppose.”

      “Don’t overwhelm me with your flattery, sister.”

      “I hadn’t planned to.” Vateria studied one of her younger cousins, her eyes narrowing. “That’s my necklace,” she told her.

      “Can’t I borrow it?” The young dragoness glanced at Vateria over her shoulder, her tone teasing and playful due to the excitement of the upcoming evening. If Vateria remembered correctly, it would be her cousin’s first event as an adult. “You do have to admit it suits me a bit better than you.”

      “It’s true, cousin. It does,” Vateria admitted. Then she caught hold of the dragoness around the neck and unleashed her talons, breaking through the skin, blood pouring across her still-human hand. “That doesn’t mean I gave you leave to take what’s mine.”

      Her cousin slapped at Vateria’s arms and chest, unable to scream or breathe. Vateria took her to the floor and waited until a nice pool of blood had formed beneath her cousin’s head before she released her. She snatched the necklace off her cousin’s throat and walked over to one of the cowering human servants.

      “Let her bleed out a bit more. When it looks like she’s about to die”—she grabbed a small jar and handed it to the shaking slave—“use this ointment on her. It should stop the bleeding and keep her alive.” Something Vateria had discovered as she’d spent more and more time entertaining herself in her father’s dungeons. For there she kept a great prize. Something so precious that another, more formidable foe was continually kept from the Province gates. Kept away at least until the return of the great Overlord Thracius and his army.

      Vateria focused on one of the royal guards, a dragon. “She’ll suffer more as human, so if she shifts to dragon, kill her where she lies.”

      He nodded and Vateria motioned to all the females. “Let us go. We need to take our seats so the games may begin.” Because no one would dare start the games without the royal family in attendance.

      Vateria headed off down the hall, the females falling in line behind her while a servant ran along beside her, wiping the blood off her hand.

      “You could have just taken the necklace back, sister,” Columella reminded her.

      “That’s very true. But what would have been the lesson learned if I’d done that?”

      Chapter 3

      The next morning Vigholf walked into his brother’s war room and asked the question that had been plaguing him all night. “Know anyone who can fix a spear?”

      “A spear?” Ragnar the Cunning glanced up from his scrolls. “When did you start fighting with spears again?”

      “Not my spear.” He sat back on his haunches and gazed over what Ragnar was looking at. “What’s this?”

      “The tunnel plans.” For nearly seven months they’d had their troops digging out a tunnel that would lead them directly under the Polycarp Mountains and right into the Irons’ stronghold. Once in, they could take the Irons unaware and destroy them. At least that was the current plan. Whether it would work or not was anyone’s guess, but it was better than sitting around and waiting for something to happen. “It shouldn’t be much longer now.”

      “Good. Because the Irons are getting bolder.”

      “Why do you say that?” Ragnar asked.

      “Another attempt to get in here. Don’t know what they think they’ll find, though.”

      “How many were there this time?”

      “About ten trying to get our attention and three Elites trying to sneak past.”

      Ragnar looked up again. “Only three?”

      “Yes.” Vigholf saw a pile of dried and smoked cows’ legs in the corner and he went over and grabbed one. “Which is why I say I don’t understand what they’re doing. Coming to spy, maybe?”

      “Perhaps.” Ragnar sat back on his haunches. “Or they know about the tunnel or they’ve found a weakness here. Something we’ve missed.”

      “Don’t be so paranoid.” Vigholf ripped the flesh off the cow’s leg with his fangs. “We didn’t miss anything, we’ve got all the entrances and exits covered. And if they knew about the tunnels, Thracius would have destroyed them by now.”

      “You don’t know that.”

      Meinhard walked in and Vigholf tossed him a cow’s leg as well. “Ragnar’s being paranoid.”

      “When isn’t he?”

      “We can’t afford for anyone to get in here,” Ragnar reminded them. “So do me a favor and see if we may have missed any more possible entrances.”

      “You’re asking for a favor?” Vigholf said.

      “Like we’re old chums?” Meinhard added.

      Fed up, Ragnar snapped, slamming his claws against the thick wood table. “Do what I tell you!”

      “No need to get snappy,” Meinhard muttered, and Vigholf hid his smile behind the cow’s leg.

      “Bastards,” Ragnar complained with a snarl, but it quickly turned to a smile when the lovely Princess Keita walked in.

      “Oooh,” she cheered. “All these handsome males in one place. It makes a girl so happy!”

      Ragnar held his claw out and Keita took it, allowing him to pull her tight against his side.

      “The Irons tried to get in here again. It’s making me concerned,” СКАЧАТЬ