What A Dragon Should Know. G.A. Aiken

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      Dagmar smiled warmly when the gates opened and several monks came in, two pulling a large cart weighed down with books. Books brought for her.

      “Brother Ragnar.” She briefly bowed her head in respect.

      “My Lady Dagmar. It’s so good to see you, my dear.”

      Brother Ragnar, a longtime monk of the mysterious and rarely seen Order of the Warhammer, had been bringing books to Dagmar since she was ten. It was the one thing about her father’s fortress and the surrounding towns that kept her sane—non-warring travelers who always had information she found of use. Brother Ragnar was definitely her favorite of all their regular visitors, but she’d met and talked with many—most of them monks or scholars—over the years, learning much about a world she’d never seen. They brought her books, news, and gossip that she often used to help her father and her people, but it was Brother Ragnar who’d actually tutored her in reading, writing, and negotiation skills.

      He’d taught her much from the beginning, suggesting ways she could get what she wanted from her kinsmen without ever appearing as if she were trying. “Why be a battering ram, my dear, when you can simply knock on the door and be let in?”

      He’d been right, of course. Like he always was.

      Dagmar took his right arm since his left hand held onto his traveling stick. She never could see much of his face because of the cowl he always wore but doubted he was extremely old based on the sound and strength of his voice. And although he’d been wounded badly, his body broken and weak, he hadn’t lost his spirit. The eyes that gazed at her from the darkness of his cowl were a vivid blue with strange flecks of silver throughout the iris and were always bright and lively.

      The Order forced Brother Ragnar, even with his body broken, to walk everywhere although she’d offered more than once to purchase him a horse. But it came down to the sacrifices monks of every order were forced to make, which Dagmar would never understand—wasn’t life difficult and painful enough without adding more misery to it?

      “I’m so glad to see you, Brother.” She squeezed his gloved hand. “You’re looking well.”

      “It’s still pleasant out. Although I don’t look forward to winter.” Winter in the Northlands was a hard time for all of them, and only the most hearty—or stupid—trekked through the winter storms to reach the Reinholdt lands.

      “Well, you’re here now. And we have much to discuss.”

      “Yes, we do.” He gestured to the cart. “And I’ve brought you some wonderful new books I think you’ll enjoy.”

      She glanced in to the cart and smiled. “You bring me the best presents.”

      Placing Brother Ragnar’s hand on her arm, she led him and his comrades to the Main Hall for warm wine and food. “So, Brother…any more on my uncle?”

      “Much, I’m afraid. I don’t like it, Dagmar. I don’t like it one bit.”

      “Nor will I, I’m sure.”

      “Did you send a message to the Southland queen as I suggested?”

      “I did, but my father was not exactly pleased.”

      “She is a woman,” he teased. “Her weakness is obvious.”

      “But her reputation, Brother…”

      “I know. She is quite insane, but she has near a hundred legions at her disposal, my lady. Imagine what even one legion could do to help your father.”

      “But if she is completely insane as everyone says, will she understand what danger she’s in?”

      “My lady, most Southland monarchs are quite mad. But they are always surrounded by the most reliable and clever minds of our age. Queen Annwyl will be no different.” He squeezed her hand gently. “No worries, my lady. If the queen does not come herself, I have no doubt she’ll only send her most respected representative in her stead.”

Chapter 2

      How long should a dragon of my stature be expected to survive without a warm, willing pussy at my disposal?

      For days he’d been traveling through the cold and unforgiving Northlands over Oceans of Despair and Forests of Death and Rivers of Bile. He didn’t call them these names out of caprice. He called them that because that’s what most of them were named in some form or another.

      And after so many days of constant travel through what he was now convinced was a form of hell, he was still without a woman. He tired of men; he wanted to see females. He wanted to smell their hair and taste their skin and lose himself СКАЧАТЬ