Rake My Lust (Dragons of Blood and Bone #3)

6. Truth

6

TRUTH

A s Jarl Oggi Magnussen shifts up into his tremendous gold and black drake upon the ice, a feeling of death swamps me. This is it: there is no going back, as his honor guard brings five wicked talon tips made of pure silver to him. Inset with runes for I-don’t-know-what, those magical talon tips look absolutely deadly. As the massive Jarl flexes one hand, fitting each talon into the appropriate silver tip now, a feeling of fate takes me.

I’m riveted staring at those silver tips, because I know they’re going to come raking over my naked flesh in a minute. And that’s just the beginning; next I have to shift up, severely wounded.

And dive to the bottom of a frozen lake with my drakes—hoping we survive.

Our chances of doing so are little to none, I know now. Even as our guard step forward, removing our manacles so we have our full magic available to survive this, I know oblivion is coming.

Even though I feel my twin dragon’s power rush back now, along with my bonds to Bjorn and Strom, bolstering my magic and producing a blistering crimson, gold, and white Bloodwind around me, I know we’re in for it. Jarl Oggi flexes his big taloned hand, gazing at us with one glittering black and gold eye to see if we’re ready, and terror floods over me.

I stand firm in the face of death, however, because that’s who I am. I don’t back down from a fight, ever, as my two dragons twist as one inside me now, creating my fullest Bloodwalker power.

My courage blazes then, as Strom’s and Bjorn’s strength fills me through our returned bonds. We’re fighters, through and through, and always will be; I let that feeling devour me now as we join hands, ready.

As we touch, our connection sears tenfold. It rips through me with both the Blood and Bone Magic sides of my power joined now, as my unified Bloodwalker drakaina raises the vastness of her white, gold, and red mantle.

Snarling deep inside my blood and bones—to win this.

“Come on, then. Do it,” I say to the Magnussen Jarl, ready to die on my feet if he not-so-accidentally slices my throat open. Before he can, however, we see another group of dragons fly in over the crest of the mountains.

Dragons Jarl Oggi didn’t expect, as he turns and snorts in wrath.

Those ten dragons aren’t Magnussen Clan-sized, I can tell right away as they fly over the rim of the mountains and dive fast into the bowl of the valley. As they alight beside us on the ice, I see they’re all lean, mean, wickedly fast drakes and drakainas—warriors of speed and agility, rather than strength.

All have variations of green and red markings on them, some with lighter spring green and blazes of gold. I can tell at once they’re Strom’s family as he grins now and laughs, throwing his head back in jubilant delight as he roars to the skies.

They all roar with him.

Furious, those drakes and drakainas shift down. I see a variety of ages as they take their human forms, standing naked on the ice without a trace of clothing on, or fly-bags with them. Each is gloriously tattooed, the women lithe and red-cheeked with dark brown and tawny gold hair, the men only just taller and looking like renegade ruffians, to a man.

They’re all just like Strom; I feel his glee now as he strides forward, clasping arms and embracing his kin. I recall now that Strom has a ginormous family, though I have met none of them. I can tell, however, that these are siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles come to help him now.

Along with one ancient drake—wiry and whip-lean in his nakedness, without a trace of fat on him.

“Jarl Oggi Magnussen.” That old drake growls now with a sound that shudders the ice beneath my feet. With eyes as green as Strom’s, upright in his wiry nakedness though his hands are gnarled, an emerald and silver dragon-ring on his index finger has somehow survived his shifting—much like Maryse’s ring still on my finger can also do. “You wouldn’t think of testing my Jarl-Heir in a Trial to the death without giving your neighbor a courtesy call to come witness it, would you?”

Jarl Oggi snorts as his dragon, his black-gold eyes blazing with fury, before he shifts down. His silver talon tips are shed to the ice as he resumes his human form. Holding a hand up, he eschews his robe now.

As he stands robust, towering over the far smaller Eriksson Jarl.

“Jarl Jorg Eriksson. Why are you here?” Jarl Oggi does not offer words of welcome as he faces off with the ancient but strong elder Eriksson, who’s been Jarl of the Eriksson clan for centuries.

“Several small tattoo drakes tried to reach me, as I was doing drills with my warriors along the coast yesterday,” Jarl Jorg Eriksson says now as he gives Jarl Oggi a severe eyeball. “The last of them had just enough magic left to find me, and leave a whisper in my ear about what was going on here. I understand my great-grandson and Jarl-Heir has committed a transgression, coming here and ruining a sacred site without your permission. To see he receives just punishment, I will sit here with my people and observe his Trial, for him and his mates. Unless you object?”

I see the easy effectiveness of Jarl Jorg Eriksson now, as he faces off with the massive Jarl Oggi Magnussen. Smooth like good whiskey, Jarl Jorg has a tongue of honey but a constitution of iron; I feel his dragon’s ultra-massive power swirl all around me now, protective as it cradles me.

He can’t interfere with these proceedings, nor get us out of them without starting a serious shitstorm with the Magnussen Clan, his neighbors. What Jarl Jorg can do for Strom is make sure these proceedings are conducted with as much fairness as possible.

A quick laugh comes from the righteous Magnussen drakaina above us in her throne.

As Jarl Oggi shows a furious scowl.

“Neighborly hospitality states I must do as you request,” Jarl Oggi says with a bitter bite now, his gold-black eyes burning as they take in the far smaller Jarl. “Find a place to watch theses proceedings, Jarl Eriksson, but do not interfere with your great-grandson’s fate.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jarl Jorg smiles with hard sweetness now at Jarl Oggi, before gesturing to us. “First, a private word with my great-grandson, if you would. If he is about to die today, I must ask him for his recommendation on his replacement as Jarl-Heir. As is law throughout all Blood Dragondom… for a Jarl-Heir about to do battle to recommend his or her replacement.”

Jarl Oggi Magnussen growls with wrath now as he flexes a fist. Even I know that law, standard these past few hundred years and laid down by my uncle, King Huttr Erdhelm, to ensure stability among the Jarldoms when battle was nigh.

Jarl Oggi can’t refuse Jarl Jorg’s request without committing treason against our King. I see him understand that, as the elderly drakaina gives another bark of a laugh above.

Jarl Oggi’s look at her could shatter daggers before he looks back at us.

“Five minutes. No more.” He gestures Jarl Jorg forward.

“Of course.” Jarl Jorg Eriksson strides to us now, no infirmity anywhere in his rope-wired body. He’s riddled with scars amongst his magnificent tattooing; deep scars that show his battle-prowess and hardy nature. He gives us the most amused grin as he comes to us .

His people are left behind, waiting on the ice as he waves a sound barrier around us all now. As I find myself in conference with an extremely venerated Jarl whom I’ve only met a few times with my uncle, I’m suddenly also aware that I’ve taken his great-grandson and Jarl-Heir as my Second Bloodmate.

Without his permission—whatsoever.

“So. Rikyava. Good to see you again.” Jarl Jorg has a twinkle in his eye as he regards me. Though we’ve never exactly spoken, it’s clear he’s just as much a rascal as his great-grandson as he grins at me in our current predicament. His gaze slides up and down me now, appreciative, though I’m swaddled in Magnussen furs.

Him standing completely, and unselfconsciously, naked before me.

“Jarl Eriksson. Thank you for coming.” I give a deep nod, putting a hand to my heart, though my station as Hog Skjaldm?r means I need do no Jarl such honor, even one so old and celebrated as Jorg.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of missing a chance to meet the drakaina who managed to snare my hotheaded great-grandson for a lifemate.” Jorg chuckles, though something in his grass-green gaze is piercing now as he regards me. “We’ll have time to discuss that later. For now, I have a small moment to help you three not die today. And with any luck, you’ll get through this.”

“What do you know that might help us, grandfather?” Strom asks, as the real reason for Jarl Jorg approaching us right now comes out.

“The thing you feel called to touch at the bottom of this lake—don’t,” Jarl Jorg says with alertness now as his vibrant green gaze pins us. “Once you are cut by the silver Truthtalons, you will feel a pull towards what lies at the very center of this lake. There are truths and there are truths, younglings. Death has a true feeling—as does life. You will face that choice when you come to the bottom of that lake. Choose wisely, and all three of you may survive this. Use your power as a trio, returned to you now, to get through this. Fail to support each other, and help each other choose life… and nothing I can do as a Jarl will get you out of this. Understand? ”

“Understood,” Strom says, as both Bjorn and I nod. We’re out of time, though; as Jarl Jorg lifts the soundproofing barrier, I realize he’s not asked Strom for his pick to become the next Jarl-Heir if he dies. Either Jarl Jorg already has someone picked out, or he expects us to make it through this today. I hope it’s the latter, as my mates and I turn.

To face Jarl Oggi Magnussen again.

He’s shifted back up into his massive gold and black dragon upon the ice. As he puts on the last of the five Truthtalons, he snorts, jutting his chin at us. I know it’s time to get naked, and don’t hesitate to strip away my furs as my drakes do the same.

Silent now, bolstered by what Jarl Jorg has told us, even if we don’t quite understand it, we stand tall as Jarl Oggi’s big drake sidewinds in before us. His movement is so fast, I don’t even see it as he swipes us. The pain from those silver talon tips burns like fire as it goes raking across my torso and upper thighs, searing five lines of agony across my body.

Even as I register that, catching my breath to see I’m already bleeding a lot, I see how those five talon-slashes are just that—slashes. They didn’t cut deep, didn’t disembowel me or rake through any major veins or arteries.

A fair fight, now that Jarl Jorg Eriksson is watching today.

As Strom, Bjorn, and I gasp, shuddering from the pain, I feel how Bjorn got the worst of it. He was on the leading edge of his father’s slash where he stood beside me—as such, his gashes are deepest, and I’m sure Jarl Oggi planned it that way. Strom got the least injury, probably because of his great-grandfather looking on, whereas I got the middle amount of damage from those cruel silver talons, where I stood between my drakes.

We’re all bleeding now, our blood spattering down to discolor the ice at our feet. With an uncaring snort, Jarl Oggi’s dragon juts his chin for us to shift up.

And get our asses over to the hole in the ice, stat.

“Remember. Focus on life, not death,” I tell my drakes now as we stumble in our injured state to the hole in the ice. We all take deep breaths, preparing to shift, as we manage the vicious pain of our rents. “I don’t know quite what your great-grandfather’s words mean, Strom, but I think whatever we’re about to experience down there, we need to feel for something with life in it, rather than where our bleeding rents want us to go—towards death.”

“Fuck death.” Bjorn is stolid now as we stand beside the ice hole. As we gaze down into the blue-white water, so cold it’s crystalline all the way to the bottom where massive piles of glacial rocks are, I feel Bjorn’s righteous wrath. “This doesn’t end here with my father. Not by a long shot.”

“Hold on to that as we do this Trial, my friend.” Strom gives a dark frown now as he peruses the water, trying to see what we’re in for down below. I feel how bolstered Strom is though by having his family here, including his great-grandfather. Strom’s not about to go down without a fight today, and I feel his renegade heat fill Bjorn and I both up like wildfire now, righteous, as a whirl of Bloodwind from all our powers rushes around us.

“We can’t die here today,” I say, knowing to my blood and bones it’s true, as my united Bloodwalker dragon snarls in my veins. “We have to live to fight the Black Dragon and stop it. And make sure those Bone Mages controlling it never see another sunrise, in addition to the horrible creature they thought they could resurrect.”

“Done and done. And we’ll punish my father for waylaying us in the process.” Bjorn’s voice is a snarl as he glances at us, his irises all gold and seething now with the power of his righteous hate.

“Time to jump in there and see what we can see,” Strom says with a dire chuckle as he nods at the massive ice-hole. “Though this water is clear as diamond, I can’t see shit at the bottom except a pile of rocks. Probably some trick of magic, which won’t be apparent to us until we shift and dive in.”

“Get ready for anything.” I nod at my drakes to shift up. We do, as a trio, and are soon standing on the precipice of the hole in our dragon forms .

Still bleeding out everywhere upon the ice.

I know it will not stop when we dive in, and may get much worse. My head is already getting fuzzy from blood loss: I shake it, then jut my chin at my drakes.

We dive in through the ice hole together. The vicious chill of the water hits me like a ton of bricks, hammering the air from my lungs as I crash on in. I feel it hit my drakes the same way and we surface, taking one last deep lungful of air and letting ourselves adjust to the nearly freezing temperature. Then we dive down, holding our air in our lungs and our magic close around us so we don’t bleed out too fast.

As we hold life in our hearts—to make it through this.

Once we’re beneath the water, whatever magic that held the Truthstone invisible comes clear. As I see it, I feel more than hear both my drakes snort in horrified astonishment at what we’re seeing.

Though there are massive boulders at the deep bottom of the lake, something else is visible now as well. Thousands upon thousands of skeletons, a veritable abattoir of dragon bones lies at the cold, clear center of this lake, like some ancient battle where all the dead were piled into the water to rot.

All those skeletons are far larger than modern Blood Dragons. Just like the bone-dragon sentinels we saw in Unhaemmerten , these ancestors of ours were far larger, and far more deadly, than anything we are now.

As I see that massive pile of bones, I also see countless smaller, more modern Blood Dragon skeletons atop that. They’re all those who came here for the Trial of Truth in recent times and didn’t make it, I know, as I take in that terrible pile of carnage at the chill center of the lake.

A mountain of death, here beneath the water.

Bjorn snorts for us to dive down to see what we can see. We’re still bleeding out, as we move our dragon-bodies like serpents now to dive further into the bowels of the lake.

Folding our wings close so we’re the most water-dynamic, we vibrate our magic around us now, sending ripples of energy through our skin and scales to staunch our bleeding. It helps, but only a little.

Far less than the dominion our power normally has over blood, to heal injuries while we’re fighting.

It gives us a bit more time, though, as we pool our magics and resonate them through our life-bonds now to strengthen the effect. As we dive towards the grisly center of the lake, I know it won’t last—we’ll either die by blood loss down here, or we’ll run out of breath faster than we can bleed out.

Most Blood Dragons live by the sea and have adapted to hold our breath for ten or even fifteen minutes under water, but we don’t have gills like Sirens. If there’s any battle to come in this Trial, we’ll lose air even faster as we investigate this pile of bones.

Praying our breath and blood holds out until it’s time to make our choice.

Of life—or death this day.