What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(147)

He took it and opened the expensive parchment. It was short but to the point.

Father—

As a Northlander, we all knew what I’d do.

Dagmar

“Who’s Jökull?” the woman asked.

“I’m Jökull, wench.” Jökull leaned over the pummel of his saddle, leering at the woman. “And who are you?”

She turned her horse and smiled at him. “I’m Annwyl.” Then with a speed Sigmar had never seen before, she ripped one of the swords from its sheath and threw it. The weapon flipped end over end until it slammed full force into the middle of Jökull’s head, yanking him back off his horse and into the men behind him.

She looked over her shoulder at Sigmar. “I can only stay today. Have to get back to my twins and my mate before he comes looking for me—which won’t be good for you. Oh! And I’m supposed to bring someone named Canute with me when I return. Dagmar said for you not to argue about it. But my troops will stay.” She nodded in the direction she’d come and he saw those troops marching over the ridge. “That’s five legions your daughter negotiated out of me. She’s good, warlord. And once we get this all cleaned up for you, she’ll be home to see you.” She smiled. “She has a very big surprise for you.” She snapped her fingers. “And I’m supposed to send a very big hello to … uh … Eymund?”

Sigmar’s eldest nodded at the woman.

“From Gwenvael.”

His son’s shoulders slumped and his brothers chuckled beside him.

Then Annwyl the Bloody, Queen of Dark Plains, faced the confused and panicked troops of Jökull.

“I want my sword back,” she announced to them, pulling her second sword from its sheath. “Now who’s gonna stop me from getting it?”

His eldest leaned in close and reminded Sigmar, “I guess Cousin Uddo was right all those years ago, eh, Da?”

“What?”

“When he’d called her Beast.” His son grinned and motioned to the mad bitch riding flat out into Jökull’s troops with her sword raised. The mad bitch his daughter had sent to them. “I think, unfortunately for poor Uncle Jökull, Uddo was bang on.”

It started slow, deep in his chest, but burst out of him. Great, powerful laughter, his troops joining in as Annwyl’s legions swarmed over Jökull’s hired troops.

“Get in there, men!” Sigmar finally ordered, swinging his ax off his shoulder. “Anyone not in our colors or Annwyl’s—dies!”

He raised his ax high, knowing there was only one war cry that would mean anything to himself or his men on this day. “For The Beast!” he bellowed.

And as one, her kinsmen yelled back, “For The Beast!”