Even though I feel my twin dragon’s power rush back now, along with my bonds to Bjorn and Ström, bolstering my magic and producing a blistering crimson, gold, and white Bloodwind around me, I know we’re infor 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 Ström’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 Ström’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 tawnygold hair, the men only just taller and looking like renegade ruffians, to a man.
They’re all just like Ström; I feel his glee now as he strides forward, clasping arms and embracing his kin. I recall now that Ström 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 Ström’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 goodwhiskey, 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 Ström 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.
