back.”
“No, Keita!” the Blue yelped. “Not the tickling! Stop it!”
“Think we should rescue the royal from his sister?” Meinhard asked Ragnar.
“If we hope to leave before the end of time…” Briec the Mighty, second oldest in the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, fourth in line to the throne of the White Dragon Queen now that his eldest brother had bred his demon spawn twins, Shield Hero of the Dragon Wars, Former Lord Defender of the Dragon Queen’s Throne, Benevolent Ruler of the fair Talaith’s heart, and proud father of two amazing daughters who were perfect merely because they were his daughters, located his eldest brother in the war room.
Fearghus stood behind the large table, an extensive map open in front of him. Brastias, General of Queen Annwyl’s armies, to his left, and Dagmar Reinholdt, the only female capable of tolerating his younger brother, Gwenvael, on his right. A small group of Annwyl’s elite guard stood around the table.
Fearghus looked up from the map. “What is it, Briec?”
“I just heard from Éibhear. He’s heading home.”
“Good.” Fearghus returned his focus to the map.
“And Keita’s with him.”
“Yes!”
Fearghus’s head came up again, and both he and Briec looked over at several of the soldiers who were grinning and slapping each other on the back. When Briec made black smoke come out of his nostrils, they looked away and stopped smiling.
Briec stepped farther into the room. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing 74
at the map.
“Dagmar heard from Ghleanna—” Fearghus began.
“Izzy?” Briec immediately asked.
“She’s fine, brother. Ease yourself.”
Briec’s eldest, Iseabail, a soldier with Annwyl’s army, had been out with his Aunt Ghleanna’s troops for nearly two years now. And although he was not Izzy’s father by blood, he worried for her every day. Blood or not, Izzy was his daughter. She would always be his daughter.
“Then what is it?” Briec asked.
“More problems in the west. Entire towns destroyed near the Aricia Mountains.”
“I thought the army had a handle on the barbarians in the west.”
“The ones near the Western Mountains, yes, but we haven’t even moved past them yet.”
“Still? How hard is it to drive barbarian cretins back to the mud huts from which they came?” He glanced at Dagmar. “No offense.” Cold grey eyes shielded by small circles of glass looked up from the map. “Since my mud-hut-living, barbarian, cretin people are not from the west…none taken.”
“We’re getting calls for assistance from the western kings,” Brastias explained.
Briec didn’t see the problem. “So send another legion.”
“I don’t like it,” Fearghus grumbled.
“You don’t like anything.”
“Not you, of course, but I lie and tell our mother I do.” Fearghus looked at Dagmar. “Have you heard anything?”
“What makes you think that I—” A room filled with males snorting in disbelief cut the Northlander off. “I wanted to get more information,” she admitted.
“More information on what?”
“Possible problems coming from beyond the Aricia Mountains.”
“Beyond?” Frowning, Briec studied the map. “The only thing beyond the Aricia Mountains is…”
The room grew silent, and Dagmar raised her hands, palms out. “Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions.”
“A problem coming from that far west,” Brastias murmured, “cannot be ignored by Annwyl.”
“She’s not ignoring anything.” And Briec could hear the snap in Fearghus’s voice. “Far from it.”
“What part of ‘Let me get more information before we jump to any 75
conclusions’ were all of you not clear on?” Dagmar asked.
“Fine. Get the information. Then Annwyl can decide what she wants to do.”
It wasn’t that the human warriors said anything, they didn’t. It was their silence that spoke volumes.
“What?” Fearghus asked. “What is it?”
“If Annwyl plans to hole up here
“No, Keita!” the Blue yelped. “Not the tickling! Stop it!”
“Think we should rescue the royal from his sister?” Meinhard asked Ragnar.
“If we hope to leave before the end of time…” Briec the Mighty, second oldest in the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, fourth in line to the throne of the White Dragon Queen now that his eldest brother had bred his demon spawn twins, Shield Hero of the Dragon Wars, Former Lord Defender of the Dragon Queen’s Throne, Benevolent Ruler of the fair Talaith’s heart, and proud father of two amazing daughters who were perfect merely because they were his daughters, located his eldest brother in the war room.
Fearghus stood behind the large table, an extensive map open in front of him. Brastias, General of Queen Annwyl’s armies, to his left, and Dagmar Reinholdt, the only female capable of tolerating his younger brother, Gwenvael, on his right. A small group of Annwyl’s elite guard stood around the table.
Fearghus looked up from the map. “What is it, Briec?”
“I just heard from Éibhear. He’s heading home.”
“Good.” Fearghus returned his focus to the map.
“And Keita’s with him.”
“Yes!”
Fearghus’s head came up again, and both he and Briec looked over at several of the soldiers who were grinning and slapping each other on the back. When Briec made black smoke come out of his nostrils, they looked away and stopped smiling.
Briec stepped farther into the room. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing 74
at the map.
“Dagmar heard from Ghleanna—” Fearghus began.
“Izzy?” Briec immediately asked.
“She’s fine, brother. Ease yourself.”
Briec’s eldest, Iseabail, a soldier with Annwyl’s army, had been out with his Aunt Ghleanna’s troops for nearly two years now. And although he was not Izzy’s father by blood, he worried for her every day. Blood or not, Izzy was his daughter. She would always be his daughter.
“Then what is it?” Briec asked.
“More problems in the west. Entire towns destroyed near the Aricia Mountains.”
“I thought the army had a handle on the barbarians in the west.”
“The ones near the Western Mountains, yes, but we haven’t even moved past them yet.”
“Still? How hard is it to drive barbarian cretins back to the mud huts from which they came?” He glanced at Dagmar. “No offense.” Cold grey eyes shielded by small circles of glass looked up from the map. “Since my mud-hut-living, barbarian, cretin people are not from the west…none taken.”
“We’re getting calls for assistance from the western kings,” Brastias explained.
Briec didn’t see the problem. “So send another legion.”
“I don’t like it,” Fearghus grumbled.
“You don’t like anything.”
“Not you, of course, but I lie and tell our mother I do.” Fearghus looked at Dagmar. “Have you heard anything?”
“What makes you think that I—” A room filled with males snorting in disbelief cut the Northlander off. “I wanted to get more information,” she admitted.
“More information on what?”
“Possible problems coming from beyond the Aricia Mountains.”
“Beyond?” Frowning, Briec studied the map. “The only thing beyond the Aricia Mountains is…”
The room grew silent, and Dagmar raised her hands, palms out. “Let me get more information before we jump to any conclusions.”
“A problem coming from that far west,” Brastias murmured, “cannot be ignored by Annwyl.”
“She’s not ignoring anything.” And Briec could hear the snap in Fearghus’s voice. “Far from it.”
“What part of ‘Let me get more information before we jump to any 75
conclusions’ were all of you not clear on?” Dagmar asked.
“Fine. Get the information. Then Annwyl can decide what she wants to do.”
It wasn’t that the human warriors said anything, they didn’t. It was their silence that spoke volumes.
“What?” Fearghus asked. “What is it?”
“If Annwyl plans to hole up here
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