Chapter One
Dragons Herald Death
Thefreshlyfallensnowglistens in the sunlight. A white blanket covering the earth as far as the eye can see which is marred only by the deep impression of footprints and the bright red crimson of blood.
I’ve been hunting this query for a few days now, I had worried that the snowfall last night would cover up the tracks I was following, but these ones are fresh: they’re on top of the snow. Which means that they were made since the snowfall.
I’m getting close.
Drekki slithers closer, pressing his warm, scaly nose against the palm of my hand. I absently rub him as I stare at the horizon, seeking the dark form of my prey. There is nothing but bleak white and a few struggling trees.
“Do you smell him?” I whisper to my dragon who sways his tail back and forth, upsetting the snow and sending it swirling around us.
There is a loud screech overhead, and I look up to see the dark form of my second dragon, Worm, swoop toward a grove where a handful of trees were brave enough to grow together.
“It looks like your brother sees him.”
My lips pull up as a thrill races through my blood and anticipation for a coming fight causes the ends of my fingers to tingle as I rest my hand against the hilt of my ax. Not that I expect much of a fight.
He is one imperial, already wounded and cut off from the rest of his group. I’m a shieldmaiden, I could take him even without the aid of my dragons.
Still, if there is anything I’ve learned in my years it has been to never underestimate a challenge. Those who do not keep both their eyes open, ready for any sort of trouble wind up dead. I reach up, pulling my large round shield off my back and lift my ax out of the holster at my side. I draw in a deep breath, working to steady the surging of my veins and my instincts to rush in with no thought of danger or consequences.
Those who rush blindly into battle rush blindly to their own deaths.
I must master my urges and not allow the thrill of fighting to sweep me away. I’ve seen far too many warriors lose their lives that way, and I don’t intend to follow them. Not when my tale is only just beginning.
Tonight, I will be welcomed into the ranks of the warriors of my tribe. No longer will I be a liability, one of the children to be protected. No, I’ll be the protector, the avenger, a warrior in my own rights.
First, I need to find this wounded scout and bring him back to the camp. After that— my tongue goes slightly dry at the thought— after that, I’m going to have to kill him.
I’m starting to dread that part, much to my surprise. This boy will be my first kill, likely first of many, and I’ve always known that it was coming. So why must my heart falter when the time has finally come?
I’m a warrior, I cannot balk on the battlefield. But then I suppose that is the problem of all this. I am not on the battlefield. I’m hunting a lone, wounded soldier like a rabid wolf stalking a prey. There is no glorious battle, only pursuing someone I have no real or true quarrel with while having the intention of ending their life. But then that is the way things are done, and who am I to question our forbearers?
I grit my teeth. No, I must just get through this. I’d thought my life had hammered out all the softness within me, but it seems as if a little still remains. I doubt it will stick around for long, not once I shed innocent blood.
As I move forward, I catch sight of the scout that I have been hunting.
He has his hand pressed to his forearm where the red material of his sleeves he has on under his gleaming breastplate are stained much darker. When he pulls his hand away and takes in his arm her grimaces before pressing his palm against it again. His jaw works as he clenches his teeth and squints up, trying to catch a glimpse of the sky through the branches of the trees interlocking over his head.
My boots crunch as they sink into the ground and the boy finally whips his head around, noticing me far too late to do him any good. Clearly, he isn’t the foremost scout in the imperial legion.
His eyes widen with panic when he sees someone standing there, but then his shoulders loosen as he takes me in more fully and he exhales a breath, almost in relief.
It’s clear that he underestimates me. His mistake.
He manages a wobbly smile and holds his hand up, seeming to have forgotten that he was staunching the blood flowing from the wound on his arm. His palm is stained red in a bloody handprint.
“Miss, I do not mean to alarm you, but there is a flying beast circling overhead. I get the impression that it may be hungry.”
I resist the urge to flick my gaze up to where Worm seems to have drawn his attention. I won’t make the mistake of taking my eyes off my enemy, no matter how incompetent he may seem.
There is a snap and a low hum of Drekki stepping up behind me, never capable of being more than a few steps away from me. Clingy dragon.
I can tell that the Imperial notices him just then because his eyes widen as he draws in a sharp inhale.
He turns his hand so that the bloody palm is facing the sky and quirks his fingers. “Please step toward me, slowly.”
