their ax.”
Dagmar’s head snapped up and the two women looked at each other. They didn’t need to read each other’s mind to know what the other was thinking.
They were both up, Rhian still in her mother’s arms, and near the back door when Ebba walked in. In each hand she carried a child. The girl, Talwyn, in her right and the boy, Talan, in her left.
“Got ’em,” the centaur female said, smiling. After five years she still had patience with Annwyl and Fearghus’s offspring, although none of them knew how she managed it.
“My dogs?” Dagmar demanded. Even with her duties as Battle Lord and Garbhán Isle vassal, Dagmar still managed to breed and train the most amazing but singularly violent battle dogs in the known world. Yet, surprisingly, they were also wonderful pets.
“Oh, they’re fine,” Ebba said, heading toward the stairs and the children’s bedroom. “The twins were using the ax to chase the cattle, not the dogs. The dogs were simply tagging along.”
“Somehow,” Dagmar muttered to Talaith, “that doesn’t make me feel better.”
Talaith understood that.
“Well,” Talaith said as the leader of the Kyvich legion in residence, Commander Ásta, walked by with two of her warrior witches behind her, “maybe if the Kyvich did their job and actually watched out for the children . . .”
Ásta stopped. She liked Talaith even less than Talaith liked her. “My job and the job of my coven is to keep your offspring alive. Keeping them from hacking up the cattle . . . that’s your job, Nolwenn.”
Talaith snarled a little, and Dagmar stepped in front of her, cutting the sight of the tattooed bitch from her. “Stop it.”
“She annoys.”
“The world annoys you, Talaith. Stop acting like she’s somehow special.”
Well . . . the Northland female did have a point.
“We have to stop,” Keita said from behind them.
Rhona and Vigholf glanced at each other. They’d only been walking for about four hours. Then again, Keita wasn’t known for exercising anything but her mouth and her conniving ways, so perhaps she did tire easily.
“If you can’t handle traveling a few miles on foot, Keita—” But Rhona stopped talking when she turned and saw that it was Ren sitting against a tree stump—panting.
“Ren?” She went to his side and crouched down. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He tried to smile. “Just need a few moments.”
Rhona looked to her cousin, but Keita was focused on Ren, so Rhona stood, paced over to the Lightning.
“I don’t remember the foreigner being so weak before,” Vigholf murmured low so only Rhona could hear.
“That’s because he’s not weak.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Rhona faced her cousin. “But perhaps it’s time you tell us, Keita. Tell us what is going on.”
“Tell them,” Ren said softly. “So they’ll understand.”
Keita nodded and stood. “Ren is opening a portal. It’s taking a lot out of him.”
“A portal? Why’s he opening a portal? And,” Rhona went on before Keita could answer, “the gods know he’s opened portals before, so why should this one—”
“This one will take him and others into the Eastlands. That’s not a short trip, cousin. And normally he’d take weeks to prepare for a casting of this magnitude. But we don’t have that kind of time, so he’s opening one as quickly as he can manage.”
“He can’t just”—Vigholf shrugged—“open one?”
“He can, but if it’s not precisely done, it could dump them anywhere. It’s too great a risk.”
Rhona stepped closer. “Them? Who is he taking with him?”
Keita looked back at Ren.
“Tell them everything,” he pushed. “You might as well.”
Keita nodded and said, “As we speak, several of the Western tribes Annwyl tried to wipe out have teamed together and are riding toward Garbhán Isle. They know Annwyl and most of her army are not there and they want to destroy the castle and kill her offspring for revenge. And the reason we didn’t tell you earlier is because we’re hiding all this from Fearghus and Briec. Because you know what will happen if they find out their offspring are in danger. They’ll rush off with most of the army to protect them and leave the Lightnings and the rest of my mother’s army to fend for themselves. So I decided this was the best idea.” Keita clapped her hands together. “But we’ve got it all covered and we’ve got you two to protect us all the way home . . . so there’s no need to worry!”
Vigholf watched Rhona closely, ready to catch hold of her before she could grab Keita in a rage. But Rhona merely stared at her cousin until she said, “Yeah, all right.” She sighed a little. “We should get horses then, for when we’re not flying.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Vigholf cut in, shocked Rhona was just accepting what Keita had spewed. “How do you know all this, Keita?”
“Auntie Ghleanna—”
Vigholf held up his hand, stopping Keita, and asked Rhona, “Which one is she again?”
“General of the Seventh and Ninth Legions, sister to me mum. Likes to remove heads during battle by slamming two broadswords together against someone’s neck.”
“Oh! Right! Ghleanna.”
“Anyway,” Keita went on, “Auntie Ghleanna found a messenger sneaking through our territory to get to the Irons. She brought him back to me and I found out some . . . things.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t ask her that,” Rhona warned him.
“Why wouldn’t I ask?”
“Because she means she tortured him until he begged for death and told her whatever she wanted to know,” Rhona replied, apparently accepting of all that as well.
He looked at Keita. “Does Ragnar know you tor—” Vigholf stopped himself. “Wait. Forget I asked.”
“Forgotten,” Keita happily chirped.
“But why are the Western Tribes attacking now?” Vigholf asked instead. “Annwyl’s been out of Dark Plains for five years now.”
“The messenger had a letter for Overlord Thracius from his daughter Vateria. While her father is in Euphrasia Valley, she rules Quintilian Provinces and the Sovereigns, and according to the letter she has paid the Tribesmen to attack Garbhán Isle and kill Fearghus and Briec’s offspring.”
