So, no. It wasn’t the blindness. It was giving your soul over to a being who merely fed off hatred and bigotry. In Aidan’s estimation, life was entirely too short to be that gods-damn miserable.
But the Zealots happily wallowed in their hatred, singing about the destruction of beings who’d had no say about being placed in this universe. The Abominations.
Rather an Abomination, Aidan thought, than a Zealot puppet for an undeserving god mired in shit, dirt, and rage.
As soon as the first regiment made it to the other side of the clearing, the soldiers began to set up camp.
“We need to get out of here,” Branwen whispered. “I’ll take Caswyn.”
“He’s still unconscious. I should take him.”
“I need you to keep Uther quiet until we get far enough away. If I stay with Uther, I’ll give him the death he’s so eager for.”
She was right, of course. An injured Mì-runach could be dangerous because they were more than willing to sacrifice themselves for others, which was all well and good, but they rarely did that sort of thing quietly. And stealth was the only advantage their small, weaponless group had at the moment.
Brannie went to Caswyn’s side and, with amazing ease, lifted the dragon in human form onto her shoulders. Aidan knew from vast experience that even in his human form, Caswyn was no “easy carry,” but Brannie made it appear effortless.
Maybe for her it was.
Aidan had seen the great General Ghleanna carry two dragons at a time off a battlefield and not even appear winded. Why should it be any different for the daughter of Ghleanna?
As soon as Aidan came to Uther’s side, the dragon began to argue about how he needed no help. Aidan quickly slapped his hand over his friend’s face. Uther’s voice was known to carry when he was drunk or badly wounded.
“Do me a favor, old friend,” Aidan whispered. “Keep your mouth shut.”
Uther began to argue behind Aidan’s hand.
“Unless you want Brannie the Awful to come back here and finish you off herself, you’ll stop talking and do what I say.”
The one eye not swollen shut widened. Getting put down like an old horse held no allure to Uther, so he put his arm around Aidan’s shoulder and together they silently followed the others.
* * *
Morfyd the White pried her niece’s blood-covered hands from her blood-covered face.
“Let me see, Rhian,” she begged.
“It hurts,” Rhian whispered.
“I know, love. I know,” she soothed.
Morfyd pressed her niece’s hands into her lap and gently washed the blood from Rhian’s eyes while all around them was chaos.
Ancient mountains had crumbled this day, the land split apart. All because someone had taught Zealots spells so ancient and powerful, the casters didn’t realize that even if the twins hadn’t destroyed them, the power of those spells would have completely drained them. Leaving nothing but burnt-out husks.
Of course, the twins hadn’t let that happen. Combining Talwyn’s power over nature with Talan’s dominion over death—even if he still had no power over human dead yet—had created a mighty force. The damage done would have been quicker, though, had Rhian been with them. But the spells cast had wounded her, and Morfyd was still trying to find out how much.
While she worked slowly, sensitive to her niece’s fear, anarchy reigned. The panic of horses, the screams of soldiers, the angry growls and snarls of war dogs as they all tried to move to safety.
And the one thing that could get control of them all, that could calm the men, the horses, and the dogs, and unite what was left of the legions . . .
That one thing was gone.
Annwyl. Gone.
And no one had any idea what had happened to her or where she was.
The blood removed, Morfyd was still unclear on how bad the damage to her niece was.
“I need you to open your eyes, Rhian.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know, love.” So was Morfyd. But she’d never say that to Rhian. Since birth, her precious niece had been more sensitive than anyone else among their kin. Not weak. She would never be weak. No, she was sensitive. She felt more deeply, lived more heartily, loved with her entire being. But she could also break more easily and all that lovely goodness curdle. That was something none of them wanted. Not only because they all loved their sweet, loving Rhian, but because she was the only thing that balanced out the twins and their power. Without her, Morfyd could easily see her niece and nephew heading down a path from which they might never return.
“Open your eyes. Please.”
Frowning deeply, on the verge of fresh tears, Rhian blinked and blinked, then finally lifted her lids fully. More blood dripped out but—thank the gods!—her eyes were still there.
Morfyd had been afraid those Zealot spells had somehow removed sweet Rhian’s eyes.
Perhaps the Zealots had tried but couldn’t get past the strength of her magicks. Or she might have simply been less affected by their spell than they’d anticipated. Rhian’s power and training came mostly from her witch mother. The Nolwenn witches of the Desert Lands were as powerful as the Kyvich witches in the north. But her Nolwenn blood wasn’t all Rhian possessed. She was the third-born Abomination and the blood of dragons flowed through her veins along with her mother’s human blood. And nestled in that dragon’s blood was the power of her grandmother, Rhiannon the White. Like Morfyd, a white She-dragon—and the most powerful of Dragon witches among their kind.
Although Rhian had been born with the brown skin and hair of her Desert Land people, a shock of white on her scalp now fell down her back along with all that curly brown hair. It had developed over the last year and she kept it in a long braid so that it was almost lost among her mane of thick brown curls.
But it was there and Morfyd knew what that white hair meant. That Rhian’s powers were only beginning to develop. At some point, she would outshine her cousins and, perhaps, Rhiannon herself.
But until then, until Rhian finally discovered the extent of the power buried deep inside, she would need more protection than the twins. And Morfyd had taken it upon herself to be that protection for now.
“Can you see, Rhian?”
She turned her head, violet, bloodshot eyes searching.
“Yes,” she said on a deep sigh. “A little blurry, but I can see.” She tried to wipe her eyes with her fists but Morfyd stopped her, pushing her hands back into her lap. “What happened?” she asked.
“An ancient spell. One long buried. Used to destroy this land.”
“And Auntie Annwyl’s legions?”
“Damaged but many survived because of the twins.”
Rhian blinked, frowned again. “Uncle Brastias.”
Morfyd dropped her gaze. She’d been afraid to think of her mate. Afraid she’d break down and be of no use to anyone. But she wouldn’t lie to Rhian, who would see through that with little effort.
“I don’t know where he is, love. I can only hope—”
“I wasn’t asking,” Rhian said plainly. “Because I see him right there.”
Still crouching, Morfyd spun and saw her mate standing among the troops. He was covered in dirt and blood and bruises, spouting off angry orders, lashing into anyone not moving fast enough or still too dazed by all that had happened to function, but he was alive.
Alive.
“I’m not dying,” Rhian pointed out. “You can go to—”
Morfyd didn’t bother to let her niece finish. She simply ran to Brastias and threw herself into his arms.
He hugged her tight. “I’m fine,” he told her. “I’m fine. I’m just glad you are. I didn’t know where you were, but I had to take care of the troops or—”
“It’s all right.” She reminded him, “I can take care of myself. I may not handle a sword like my cousins, but I’m still a Battle Witch.”
Brastias’s name was called; his officers needed his assistance. But she could feel that he didn’t
want to let her go, which was all she really needed to get her through the next few hours.
“Go,” she said, forcing herself to pull away. “Go and know that I love you.”
He still gripped her hand and kissed the back of it before finally releasing her.
When Morfyd returned to her niece, crouching in front of her, Rhian placed her hand on Morfyd’s shoulder and leaned in.
“This is bad,” she whispered, her eyes no longer bleeding, her sight perfectly clear.
“I know.”
“And Auntie Annwyl—”
“Yes.” Morfyd cut Rhian off, not wanting the troops to hear about their queen until the chaos had calmed down and Brastias had better control of the situation.
“Auntie Morfyd . . . there’s only one thing to do. You know that.”
“We can’t. They will hear.”
“It’s not like we have much of a choice.”
Rhian, as always, was right.
Morfyd closed her eyes and, using her mind, she called out.
Mother ...
Chapter Four
Without wings or clothes and on their human feet, the small group made it several miles from their enemies. It was at times like this that Branwen wondered how humans did it. How did they go on, day to day, without wings, practically hobbled by their tiny feet? It wasn’t that she had to use her wings all the time—it was knowing that she could that made all the difference.
But now, in order to avoid alerting any of the Zealots lurking in the trees—probably on the lookout for enemy dragons—they had to stay on the ground. They had to move silently. On their tiny human feet.
She wouldn’t call all this hell, exactly, but it was close.
Thankfully Caswyn eventually woke up and was able to at least drag his feet along, his arm over Brannie’s shoulders. She was grateful for that bit of help. After two, three hours, the big bastard had gotten heavy.
Five hours in, the enemy legions behind them, Brannie stopped.
“What are we doing?” Aidan asked, Uther limping not far behind. He’d quickly gotten fed up with being “made to feel weak!” But Aidan had kept close, helping when needed to keep his friend moving on their long, wingless journey.
“I think this is a good place to turn around and head back.”
“Head back?” Aidan frowned. “Head back to where?”
“To our troops. To Izzy and Éibhear. To everyone.”
“That does not sound like a good idea, Branwen.”
Brannie focused on Aidan, her gaze narrowing. “You want to run away?”
“We already ran away. But if we’re going back, I want to take a more logical course than the one that will lead us directly into the arms of our enemies.”
“Which is what way?”
He took a moment to look around, examining the area, before pointing. “That way. We go down to—”
“That’ll take us completely off course.”
“If you’d let me finish . . .” When Brannie folded her arms over her chest and began tapping her foot, Aidan went on. “We go down that way through the next few towns. Then we turn back and follow around the Big Lakes of Rhionganedd. That will allow us to—”
“Lose days,” Brannie cut in. “Absolute days, if not more than a week. I won’t do it. We’ll go this way.”
“No. We won’t.”
Brannie didn’t know how it happened. How she and Aidan found themselves almost nose to nose, their anger palpable. Logically she knew they were both exhausted and feared greatly for their comrades. But that didn’t seem to matter at the moment as the pair squared off against each other.
“We are not about to sacrifice ourselves on the altar of your guilt.”
“What the battle-fuck does that even mean?” Brannie exploded.
“It means you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened. You had nothing to do with this.”
“I never said—”
“And we’re not about to run into a battle we can’t possible win because you feel guilty!”
“I do not feel guilty!”
“Liar!”
“Oy!” Brannie thought she heard the sound coming from behind her, but chose to ignore it.
“Don’t you dare call me a liar,” Brannie warned.
Aidan leaned in even closer, their noses now touching, and snarled, “Liar.”
“Oy!”
Startled, the pair parted and looked at Uther, who may have been trying to insert himself into their conversation for quite some time.
“What?” Aidan barked.
Uther pointed with his good arm. “That.”
Brannie looked down the opposite side of the road and watched four horses pulling a carriage, happily trotting along.
The animals began walking toward them until the horses reached them and stopped.
Brannie immediately began petting one. “They don’t seem hurt,” she noted. “Or frightened. Anyone in the carriage?”
Aidan opened the door of the elaborately designed vehicle and leaned in. “No. It’s empty.”
Brannie stepped away from the horse and walked past the carriage. She gazed down the road, trying to see if someone was running after the animals. But she saw no one and she didn’t have the time to look.
An expensive carriage like this . . . “Is there blood?” she asked Aidan.
“No.”
Brannie waited a bit longer, but when she still saw no one looking for the carriage, she announced, “We’ll take the horses.” But when she turned she saw that Aidan had already unhooked the horses and was handing the leather straps off to Uther and Caswyn so the horses could be easily led around.
When he handed her the straps of the horse she’d petted, he asked, “What?”
“I hadn’t said yet that we were taking the horses.”
“You just did.”
“But you were already unhooking the horses from the carriage before I said anything.”
“Because I knew you’d be logical about this.”
“I hadn’t given the order.”
“Oh. I understand. You seem to think of me as someone who actually reports to you. I don’t.”
“You two,” Caswyn gasped out as Uther somehow managed to help him mount one of the bigger horses. “Before you start again with all the arguing, think I can get a drink of water before I die a long and painful death?”
“No,” Brannie immediately replied.
“Of course,” Aidan said at the same time.
They glared at each other.
“Please,” Caswyn practically begged. “I’m thirsty and I’m almost positive I’m bleeding internally.”
Deciding that arguing with Aidan at this moment wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest, Brannie easily mounted her unsaddled horse and wrapped the thick leather straps around her hands. She turned her horse and headed back from where the animal came from, assuming water would be that way if someone had been traveling from that direction. She didn’t know this area well and didn’t want to end up taking them to waterless territory.
After a solid fifteen minutes, Uther called a halt and pointed into the trees next to the road. “I hear running water. That way.”
“Uther, stay with Caswyn. Aidan and I will bring water back for you.”
Thinking the horses might need water too, she and Aidan brought them along. Brannie dismounted and led the horses in carefully. As they moved, she realized how much sound the animals made even on this mossy ground and thought about finding material that they could wrap around the horses’ hooves to silence them. The Daughters of the Steppes were known for doing that when they wanted to sneak up on an enemy, and Brannie was more than happy to try their tricks when necessary.
After a short walk, they reached what turned out to be a pond. What Uther had heard, though, was the small waterfall that fed it.
Brannie released the horses, assuming the animals would follow on their own, and went the last few steps to the pond. She dropped on her knees and scooped up
the water with her hands. As she brought the clear liquid to her lips, she noticed that the horses not only didn’t follow her, but they were backing up.
She was watching them, baffled, when she heard a familiar female voice suggest, “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
Brannie quickly looked across the pond and with a gasp, quickly slapped Aidan’s hands, knocking the water he’d just scooped up away from his mouth.
“Hey!” Aidan complained. “What was that for?”
Brannie pointed. “Her.”
* * *
Aidan stared in confusion at Keita the Viper in her human form. Actually, her full name was Keita the Red Viper Dragon of Despair and Death, Princess of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, Second Born Daughter and Fourth Born Offspring of Queen Rhiannon and Bercelak the Great.
But most just called her Keita the Viper. It was easier.
She stood on the other side of the pond, looking beautiful and very royal in a purple silk gown covered in a darker purple cape, the hood pulled up so that it almost covered her long red hair, but not really. There was enough there to tantalize any dragon or man who might want to see more.
“I don’t know why you are using that accusing tone, cousin. I don’t appreciate it.”
“What have you done?” Brannie demanded, standing tall.
“There it is again. Still don’t like it.”
“Answer me, Keita. What have you done?”
With a dramatic sigh—although Keita always seemed dramatic to Aidan—she lifted her skirts, turned, and flounced off.
With a growl, Brannie followed and Aidan went after both She-dragons.
He quickly caught up with Keita as she reached a small group of royals. She faced them and with a majestic wave of her hand announced, “I did this.”
They were all dead. Every last one of them. After they’d had a drink of water from the nearby pond, he was guessing.
“Oh, Keita,” Brannie sighed, shaking her head.
“What? What is that tone?”
“Why did you kill them? Are you just bored?”
“Of course I’m not!”
“If you’re that bored, there’s a whole battlefront you can go to where you can kill to your heart’s desire.”