G. A. Aiken - The Dragon Who Loved Me

YOU ALL RIGHT? VIGHOLF ASKED.

Rhona nodded. The universe began to spin, so I decided to sit until it stopped.

Good plan.

Since he didnt know how long shed need to sit, Vigholf sat beside her. He carefully took her raised finger and tucked it back into her fist.

Thank you. I didnt seem to have control of that talon.

Finger.

Whatever. She smiled a little. You can let go of my hand.

I could, but probably wont. What with your universe spinning and all.

Any opportunity. You Lightnings take any opportunity.

Theres truth to that, Im afraid.

You are, however, surprisingly light of touch.

Pardon?

The way youre holding my hand. I always thought youd be more of a mauler. Like a diseased wolf chewing the knuckles off me fist.

Thats very nice.

Not really.

I was being sarcastic.

Oh. I see. Rhona gazed off for a moment, then asked, Where are we?

Okay. Thats it. Im taking you to bed...

More from G. A. Aiken

DRAGON ACTUALLY

ABOUT A DRAGON

WHAT A DRAGON SHOULD KNOW

LAST DRAGON STANDING

And find her stories in this anthology

SUPERNATURAL

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

THE DRAGON WHO LOVED ME

G.A. AIKEN

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Prologue

The girl slept. Not hard, though. She no longer slept hardor without a weapon. Too many times there were attacks on their camp in the middle of the night. Too many times shed found fellow soldiers trying to sneak into her bed, hoping to get out of her what they couldnt afford to buy from the camp girls. Those who survived were usually sent back to their homes. Not because of what theyd done, but because the body parts they were now missing made it impossible to expect much out of them during battle.

Yet shed never be able to say whether it was her light sleeping or her much-more-honed instincts that told her she needed to be awake and moving. Silently stepping past the other sleeping squires, she eased into the night and followed where her instincts led, to a copse of trees right outside the camp. Thats where she found her. The woman sneaking out of the camp without her guards, troops, or horse, carrying only one travel bag, her two swords strapped to her back. Going alone. Because she was brave. Because she was desperate. Because, on a good day, she was more than a little crazy.

Without saying a word, the girl ran back to her tent and grabbed her own travel pack, her own sword and battle-ax, her warmest boots and cape. She returned to the womans side, smiled.

You didnt think Id let you go without me, did you? My place is by your side.

And your death may well be by my side if you come with me. I cant allow it.

You leave without meand in seconds rather than days everyone in this camp will know that youre gone.

Bright green eyes glared and, after five long years of seeing that look on a daily basis, the girl no longer recoiled in fear. Then again, over the many years this war had been going on, shed learned how far she could pushand how far she couldnt.

Ill not be responsible for you, little girl. Youll have to keep up.

When dont I? the girl lashed back.

And watch your tone. Im still your queen.

Which is why you need me. No war queen should be without her squire.

Squire? When was the last time you washed my horse?

When I couldnt get anyone else to do it for me.

The queen grinned, the scar shed received in battle four years ago crinkling across her face. It went from her right temple, down across her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheek, finally slicing into her neck. The blade had missed major arteries and, with stitches, had healed well enough. But the scar remained and the queen left it there. To the enemy, it seemed to suggest that the rumors of her being the undead were truefor how could someone survive such a cut? As for how the queen felt about her scar... well, she never looked in a mirror that much anyway.

Lets be off then, squire, before they realize weve gone.

They headed deeper into the forest surrounding their camp, but were forced to stop after a few minutes when they found the human body of a young dragoness passed out in front of them, the victim of too much drink.

What should we do with her? the queen asked.

Cant just leave her here. Besides, it would be good to have a dragon by our side should we need one.

Good point. They picked the dragoness up, let her vomit up whatever shed drunk, then began walking with her until she could walk on her own.

After some time, the dragoness asked, Where are we going?

Into the west, the queen answered.

Our enemies are in the west.

Aye.

Theyll kill us all if they find us.

Aye.

But torture us first.

Aye.

So Im guessing you have a plan.

Not really.

The dragoness let out a sigh. I kind of knew Id regret drinking with the Eighteenth Battalion tonightI just had no idea how much.

Dont worry. Well either stop this war in its tracks or become martyrs to it.

Im a dragon, my lady. Dragons dont become martyrs. We create them.

Well then... Annwyl, the Mad Queen of Garbhn Isle, patted the She-dragon on her back as they headed farther into the west.... now you have a goal.

Chapter 1

She watched them move through the trees. They nearly blended in, but not quite. Not to her eyes.

For these enemy dragons, the Irons, trying to sneak into their camp had become a weekly occurrence. Not that she could blame them. After five years of a standstill war in this valley called Euphrasia, both sides had become tired of it all. The constant but ineffectual skirmishes, the occasional attempts to poison each others water supply. When would it end? When would this war become something they all talked about in the past tense?

Rhona the Fearless certainly didnt know. She was merely a soldier in Her Majestys Army. She received her orders from commanders and made sure those orders were executed. She killed whenever necessary, and protected those who needed it. What she didnt do was play politician. She was never involved in decisions that affected anything beyond the general safety of her troops. As a sergeant that was all she needed to be responsible for, and she was good at what she did.

Then again, she was one of the Cadwaladr Clan. Low-born warrior dragons of the Southlands who many said were born to kill. To destroy. Rhonas mother, Bradana the Mutilator, would say those many were right, and to prove it, she expected all her offspring to become elite Dragonwarriors of Her Majestys Army. And almost all Bradanas offspring did. Except her youngest daughters, triplets who had a few more years of battle training ahead of them before they were ready, and Bradanas eldest. Except for Rhona.

Ahhh, nothing like thinking of a mothers disappointment to keep one warm during watch in the Valleys winter months. Yet those were deep, slightly bitter thoughts for another day. Right now, she had to deal with what was at handIron dragons.

Shed grown up hearing tales of the Irons. Steel-colored fire breathers with white horns that curved toward their mouths who believed they should rule all under the banner of the one and only god they worshippedChramnesind, the Sightless One. In their estimation, the entire world should be their empire and all othersdragon, human, or otherwiseshould be their willing slaves, bowing down before the Overlord Thracius, sacrificing only to Chramnesind. It was a philosophy Rhonas kind didnt much like. They barely tolerated having a queen and Elders, much less an overlord. So the Southland Dragon Queens armies and the Northland Hordes, once great enemies, had joined forces to stop Thracius and his soldiers. There was just one thing none of them had planned on: that the Irons had a huge army. More dragon soldiers than Rhona had ever seen before at one time. And fresh troops kept coming. Did they have a dragon factory pumping out full-grown soldiers, ready for battle? Rhona had begun to think so. For while the Southlanders and the Northlanders had battle skills on their side, the damn Irons had numbers and the regimented, disciplined attacks of their troops.