“Briec! Gwenvael! Go!”
“What about you?” Briec asked. Gwenvael was already cal ing his troops to fol ow him.
“Don’t worry about me. Éibhear’s in there,” he reminded him. “And Mum wil have our asses if we let anything happen to that little bugger.” Colonel Ampius sat on his horse beside Lord Laudaricus Parthenius.
“How much longer?” Parthenius asked Ampius.
“Soon, sir. Overlord Thracius has the Southland dragons trapped between his armies and the Hesiod Mountains. And we’re holding off Annwyl the Bloody’s army in the pass entrance.
“Good. Once Thracius gives the order, we move in to crush what remains of the queen’s army.”
“Yes, sir.”
Another commander leaned over and warned, “More dragons, sir.”
“Use the spears.”
“Yes, sir.”
The other commanders cal ed out Laudaricus’s orders, al owing him to sit back and watch. The soldiers pul ed the giant catapult around, several twenty-five-foot wood spears already loaded into the mechanism.
The dragons flew closer, dodging the arrows shot at them from the ground.
“Hurry up with those spears, you worthless bastards!” Ampius yel ed out.
The order was given and the spears unleashed. They were near their target when the three dragons turned at the same time, the spears shooting past them. It was strange, how the three dragons moved at the same time, in the same way. Usual y at least one dragon was struck when the others scrambled to avoid the spears.
The dragons continued toward them.
“Get the spears ready again,” Parthenius ordered.
The spears were quickly re-loaded and aimed. The three dragons were close now. Nearly over them. If they moved lower to attack them directly, the spears or arrows would definitely take them down. But instead the one in the middle tilted to the side, something fal ing from its back.
“What the hel s is that?” Parthenius asked him.
“I don’t know, sir, but—” Ampius’s words stopped, his mouth open as a woman landed on the back of Parthenius’s white stal ion, two swords slamming into their leader’s shoulders and into his spine, kil ing him instantly.
The woman yanked her blades out, and pushed Parthenius’s body off the restless horse, settling into the saddle.
Grinning, she looked at the men surrounding her.
“Hel o, lads.” Her grin widened, and Ampius felt real fear for the first time in a long time. “Name’s Annwyl.” Fearghus and Ragnar stood side by side now, fighting their way through the Irons pushing in. But with his brothers’ troops in the caves, they were quickly becoming overwhelmed and they both knew it.
“Pul back!” Ragnar yel ed after a nod from Fearghus. “Pul back!”
Their troops pul ed back, but the Irons pushed forward, the cal for a charge made.
“Shit,” Ragnar muttered.
“Yeah. I know.” But to the troops he yel ed, “Shields!” Their troops lined up, shields locked. “Hold the line!” The Irons crashed into their shields. “Hold the line!” Fearghus yel ed, slamming his sword into the Irons trying to push them even farther back.
Moments from cal ing the order to retreat—something he was loath to do—a light flashed and Fearghus watched as dragons and human soldiers from . . . somewhere, he didn’t know, crashed into the Irons, battering and crushing them.
The Iron troops who’d been advancing turned toward this new attack, rushing forward to assist their comrades.
From the pile of dragons and humans a figure rose. What looked to be an Iron, al steel-colored but with long hair like Southlanders wore, and a patch over one eye, he stood tal , glaring out of that one good eye at everything around him.
“Who the battle-fuck is that?” Fearghus asked.
“I think that’s the . . . wait. Is that Izzy?”
Fearghus leaned forward, squinting. And, yes. Yes, that was Izzy, climbing onto the back of Branwen, the pair taking off.
“What the hel s—”
The Irons were rushing back into formation, their commanders getting them organized. But the Iron with the eye patch didn’t seem to be in the mood to wait. He gave the order and the Irons with him went on the attack. But they didn’t attack the Southlanders, but the other Irons. Thracius’s soldiers.
In the midst of it, Fearghus saw two other dragons get to their claws. “It’s Rhona.” He grinned. “And your brother.” Ragnar put his head down, briefly closed his eyes. “He’s alive,” he said softly. “He’s alive.”
“And somewhere around here is Annwyl. Kil ing someone or something I’m sure.”
Brannie landed behind some trees, their view of the fighting clear. “Let’s find Annwyl,” she told Izzy.
“No.”
“No? What do you mean no?” Brannie had assumed that would be the one thing, the only thing Izzy would want to do.
“Look over there.”
She fol owed where Izzy pointed. “Yeah?”
“That has to be him, right? Look at that armor . . . and the way he’s standing high up on that hil , giving out orders. That’s gotta be him.”
“That’s gotta be who? What are you talking about?”
“That’s Overlord Thracius.”
“So?” When Izzy said nothing, Brannie exploded. “You have lost your mind!”
“Hear me out—”