Dragons and Mages: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  “But I was scared,” little Aesa said, tears welling in her eyes.

  “You can be brave at the same time you’re scared.” Gefjun tapped a finger against her temple. “If you can keep your head when you’re scared, that is a thing of great honor. Now come on. We have to get back home and fix your sissy up before blackflies start laying eggs on her wound. Okay?”

  “Dyrfinna!” Mama came running into the field, her long raven hair flying behind her. She caught up Aesa, who clung to her, now crying in earnest. Mama’s eyes were wild and fixed on Dyrfinna’s. “What happened?”

  “I killed a wolf, mama. I killed it and kept Aesa safe.”

  Mama took in the sight of the dead wolf, drank in Dyrfinna’s face, then clutched her in a great hug with her other arm. “My good girl. My good girl.”

  Ostryg picked up the sword and handed it to Dyrfinna. “Your sword, madame,” he said sarcastically.

  Dyrfinna pointedly took a large corner of her dress and cleaned the blood and hair off her sword as best she could. Never hand somebody a gob-bespattered sword, Dyrfinna thought, glaring at the blade and thinking of all the things she wished to say out loud. You always clean it off first. And don’t ever call me madame. He knew she hated being called that.

  They all continued to the village. More and more people ran up to hear the story of how Dyrfinna slew a wolf with one hand while holding her little sister against her side. She could hardly hear what they were saying, because her ears rang. Her arm throbbed against its bindings, and already felt hot. Her head swam. She concentrated on each step.

  They came down the hill through the other crop allotments of the neighboring fields. The soil in Skala was a light sandy color, not like the rich, dark soil Dyrfinna’s mother talked about back in her home in Vinland.

  The light soil wasn’t very fertile, so they had to work hard to make it rich enough to grow their crops. Due to the scarcity of good land, the Vikings in Skala were running out of places to plant crops. The poorest people among them were forced to work the stoniest allotments.

  This was why their people had been sailing out into the world to settle new lands—or extort money from kings in exchange for peace. King Aethelred the Unready, the English king, was an especial pushover, filling their coffers with gold and silver. He kept paying the Vikings to go away—so they continued to return. The Queen was among those who he paid handsomely.

  Dyrfinna’s mother, a Skraeling, had come home with her father of her own accord after Leif Ericsson had tried to settle Vinland. “I wanted to explore the world,” she’d explained when Dyrfinna was little. “And I wanted to see your dragons.”

  As a group, they approached the outskirts of town, where the fields turned into tidy groups of thatched houses. Chickens skittered out of the way, and the spicy scent of wood smoke hung low over the town. The air was filled with the friendly murmur of many voices, the peal of laughter, or a song sung badly as somebody sawed, and the hum of a spinning wheel from a nearby home. Dyrfinna smiled. Though she, too, wanted to explore the world the way her papa had, she also loved her town and her people.

  “Stop at my house first,” Gefjun said. “We need to get you fixed up right away.”

  They turned in at Gefjun’s parents’ house, a large, lovely home with a thatched roof piled high, several outbuildings connected to the main structure by covered walkways, and a thickly-mulched garden tucked in close to the house. Herbs and roses filled the garden, smelling sweet, and her nanny goat, Heidrun, stood in her usual spot—the roof.

  Gefjun threw open the door wide. “Mama! Dyrfinna got wrecked by a wolf! But she wrecked the Hel out of him in return! Maaaama!”

  “She did what? Bring her in here,” her mother called from around the corner.

  Dyrfinna had been here a million times since she was a little girl. At first, she and Gefjun annoyed each other, but later became the best of friends. Dyrfinna followed Gefjun around the corner where herbs hung in the wide, airy space. Rough little glass bottles, all neatly stoppered, ran along one wall. She loved breathing the wild, wry scents of the herbs that filled the air.

  “Dyrfinna! What happened to you?” Gefjun’s mother accosted her, forcing her to sit, and untied the bandage. “We need water.”

  Gefjun had already poured water into a basin in the corner, and carried it over.

  “Clean her up,” her mama said, already running to the needles and threads. “Did you say it was a wolf?”

  “In our field,” Aesa chimed in, clinging close to her mother.

  “Little one, why don’t you run home and wait there until I get done?” Dyrfinna asked, already gasping in pain from the cold water that Gefjun was daubing on her open wound.

  Gefjun’s mother picked up not just one needle, but she brought over a whole pincushion, and two different thicknesses of thread. Dyrfinna thought of her swordmaster saying, “You must take every opportunity you can find to practice your stoicism, and perfect your mastery over pain.”

  This was going to be one of those times.

  But it would be much easier to do if Aesa wasn’t in the room, watching her and crumpling into tears.

  “No!” she cried. “I don’t want to leave Sissy!”

  Gefjun was pressing a cloth hard into Dyrfinna’s arm to soak up the blood, while her mother lay out her needles and thread, partially unspooled, with a small pair of scissors to snip the thread.

  Dyrfinna shot her mama a pleading look. Mama smiled at her with love. “Aesa, little bird, let me take you home so I can change your clothes. You have the blood of that mean wolf on them. By the time you come back, Sissy will be done. I promise.”

  “No! I want to wear that wolf’s blood! He’s bad and he hurt my sissy.”

  Dyrfinna raised her eyebrows. Her sister had spoken like a true warrior. All the same, she had to go. “Now, Aesa ….”

  Just then, a thrilling call came from outside, sending shivers up her spine. Gefjun rushed to the side door and looked out. From the water’s edge people shouted.

  Gefjun turned back with an excited squeal. “A dragon! The Queen’s dragon! Spouting flame for us to see from the horizon’s edge! She’s come back! The warriors are coming back!”

  “And Rjupa is coming back!” Dyrfinna shouted. Gefjun ran to her and they grabbed hands and screamed with joy. They'd soon see one of their closest sword-friends.

  “Papa’s coming home! Papa’s coming home!” Aesa said, everything else forgotten. She jumped up and ran to the door. “Can I go see? Please?”

  Mama put her hand on her chest. She’d always hated seeing Papa go to war, and could never be quite at peace until he was off the ship and in her arms. “He’s still a long ways off. If the dragon’s signaling just now, the longboats won’t pull onto the shore until this afternoon.”

  Dyrfinna nearly scowled at the mention of her Papa, but she hid it.

  Mama squeezed Dyrfinna’s uninjured arm, looking into her face with her dark eyes. “Do everything Heiðr tells you, okay? You’ll be fine. Join us on the sand when you’re sewn up.”

  The two women shared a respectful nod, and then Mama followed Aesa to the door. Aesa skittered out like an excited hare.

  Dyrfinna let out a breath. Glad for Aesa to be leaving, but also thrilled to know that Rjupa was nearly home. She’d missed her friend. The Queen had been gone on her mission of revenge for a long time, and there had been no news for a solid month from any part of the expedition. They should have had at least a small dragon-scout sending messages, but … nothing. So fear had gnawed at her insides, whispering the possibility that something had gone wrong.

  The itch to go down to the shore and wait overwhelmed her, even if the ships wouldn’t be there for a long time. Instead, she chewed her lip and fidgeted on the stool. She had an arm that needed fixing.

  “Okay, do your worst,” Dyrfinna told Gefjun’s mom.

  “First, a little help.” Gefjun stepped forward and handed Dyrfinna a cup of wine—the strong stuff, from the smell. “Take a pul
l of this and then hold it in your mouth for a long moment. It works faster when you do.”

  Dyrfinna held each mouthful of wine for a little while. She didn’t know if her mouth was somehow absorbing the wine, but before she’d drunk the whole cup, she began to feel whirly and quite loose and relaxed. She smiled through it. “This wine is the most lovely wine I’ve ever drunk.”

  “No more talk, Dyrfinna,” Gefjun’s mama said, and did the first stitch.

  Oh! That hurt!

  She frowned at Dyrfinna’s flinch and nodded to Gefjun to offer another drink of wine. “Be strong,” she said. “Relax.”

  Dyrfinna did her best stoic impression and let the healer work.

  Besides, if Rjupa was on that ship—and she prayed she was—she wanted her to see her stitches.

  But then she remembered the wolf lying in her field.

  “Gefjun? Could you ask somebody to get me the wolf’s skin and its teeth?” Dyrfinna asked. “It shouldn’t be too late for the pelt if they move quickly.”

  “We’ll get that for you,” she said, and leaned out the door to send a message with somebody she knew who happened to be passing by.

  The Queen’s Guard

  Dyrfinna tried to be stoic and unfazed like the legendary warriors of old. But the pain in her arm while Gefjun’s mother sewed together the skin and flesh of the open wound made it difficult. The wolf’s teeth had hurt less.

  I can take out a wolf, but a tiny needle can still leave me undone.

  Finally Gefjun’s mother cut the last knot on Dyrfinna’s arm.

  “Wow, Dyrfinna,” Gefjun said with a laugh. “That was a lot of crying. Do you want a cookie or something?”

  Dyrfinna studied her arm. Everything was sewn up neatly, though it looked like a crazy quilt bristling with stitches and tiny black knots. Then she lifted her chin and offered her friend a mock-indignant glance. “Yeah, I think I’ve earned it.”

  Gefjun rolled her eyes but grinned.

  Her mother wrapped Dyrfinna’s arm in a sling so she couldn’t move it. “Gefjun, don’t mock your friend. Dyrfinna, this sling is to hold your stitches still so they can heal. I need you to be careful with them. Wash them only with clean water and soap and pat them dry gently. Don’t get into combat with anything else that happens across your path, for I do not want these stitches to tear.” She squeezed her other shoulder. “You were very brave today.”

  Dyrfinna shrugged. Even with that little motion, the stitches pulled slightly and hurt. “There was nothing else to do. It was kill or…” or see my sister die, she thought.

  Immediately she wanted to see Aesa and give her a big hug, and give her the cookie that Gefjun handed her. Dyrfinna nodded to her friend. “Are you going to see the queen and her fleet come in?”

  “Oh yes!” Gefjun cried. “Mother, I’m going to pack a small picnic.”

  Her mother laughed. “I’ll give you a big chunk of cheese to mark this special occasion.”

  They trooped into the kitchen where a great hearth stood at the center, and little rows of colorful jars filled with herbs and spices lined the counter. Dyrfinna stood next to the hearth and enjoyed the fire while Gefjun and her mother cut bread and cheese and got some new spring radishes to eat. Their thrall-girl, Merry, brought Dyrfinna water and an oiled cloth so she could clean her sword and polish it while she waited. It wasn’t long before they were off to the sea.

  Gefjun’s house sat high on the hill that sloped down to the water’s edge, and they had a good view of the harbor where swift ships pulled up to the shore, and the mountains crowding the edge of the inlet, and the wide sea in the distance.

  Off on the horizon stood the dark lines of the queen’s fleet in the shimmering sea, and the dragons curled in the air above them. At this distance, the dragons looked like gigantic birds, but then a spout of flame would flash into the air as they made a wide curve high over the black masts of the ships. The township of Skala had a small array of dragons raised for warfare. These were raised to give their ships protection on the salt sea and to smash battle lines before their enemies could bring their dragons into the fight.

  Every dragon swirling in the air had a mounted rider guiding it. The fighting dragons had to be raised in this discipline all their lives. And not all fighting dragons were fit for that life, and so were used for other purposes. One such dragon patrolled the skies over Skala as sentinel, making sure no unnatural beasts entered their city, watching out for advancing troops or menacing ships on the horizon.

  Of course some dragons lived in the wild. A couple of places were completely off limits to human habitation because of them. Dragon wranglers would sail out to these distant islands to attempt to swipe the dragon eggs. Many people died in fire there, their blackened bones left to decay where no person would ever see them again. It had been several years since a new dragon had been introduced in Skala. No one had successfully brought in a wild dragon or egg. And the ones in Skala hadn’t produced an egg in Dyrfinna’s lifetime.

  The dragons soared high in the air around the ship, the lower dragons breathing out great gouts of flame, and the higher dragons coasting on the thermals. Slowly, the lower dragons would drift upward, while the highest dragons would circle wide to escape the thermal, and coast slowly outside the thermals over the ships until they were at the bottom, where they circled and blew out their flame.

  But three of the highest dragons slid off the thermal and flew toward her town. From where Dyrfinna stood, it looked as if the three dragons were flying wingtip to wingtip, but Dyrfinna knew that they were following several dragon body lengths behind each other.

  “Sissy!” Aesa cried from next to her.

  “Aesa! There you are, my little hero.” Dyrfinna laughed and stooped down to hug her little sister hard with her one good arm. She grimaced because her muscles were still sore from her battle. But oh, it was good to have her little sister’s arms around her. She’d fight a thousand wolves for that little bird if she had to.

  Then her dog, Floki, came over and stuck her cold nose in Dyrfinna’s ear as greeting. Floki was a big black spitz with pointy ears and a curly tail and the floofiest fur around. Dyrfinna often longed to pick up her dog and wear her like a scarf, except her dog also liked to roll in chicken poop and smelled exceptionally awful.

  “Love you too, puppy,” she told her dog, and got a big slurp for that. Then her dog zeroed in on the cookie Dyrfinna had in her hand, so she quickly gave it to Aesa. “Gefjun wanted me to give this to you.”

  Aesa put it in her apron pocket for later, and Floki stuck her wet nose on her apron. Aesa giggled and pulled away.

  Her mama, on the other hand, had her gaze fixed on the ships in the ocean. Dyrfinna stood up, tension building in her heart. Please let Rjupa be on that ship. Please let her be okay.

  Maybe she could even show her stitches to Papa. Maybe he would be proud of her for once.

  Then she made a face. As if.

  “Dyrfinna!” called Gefjun, skipping up. Following her were the rest of their sword friends. Sweet Skeggi, who was Rjupa’s boyfriend, stood on edge, about to burst for waiting for his ladylove. His ladylove was much stronger in combat than he was, so he’d been working on his battle skills like crazy the whole time she’d been gone. And they were joined by Gefjun’s boyfriend, Ostryg, of course.

  Skeggi jittered about and constantly looked out to sea, but he stopped when his eyes met Dyrfinna’s. “Let me put your sister up on my shoulders.”

  Dyrfinna melted a little but didn’t dare to let it show. “Of course.”

  He swooped up little Aesa, who giggled, and put her up on his shoulders. “Hold on,” he said, and she giggled again and stuck her little feet into his beard. He absently tucked her feet in, staring out to sea again. It was precious, just like Aesa was precious to her. Like Dyrfinna was precious once to him.

  Dyrfinna squinted out over the sea, resting her left hand on the pommel of her sword for comfort. The dragons looked about the size of albatrosses, with their wi
de wings, and fire curled from them.

  The lead dragon shimmered bronze, gleaming like an ember deep in the fire, black and red moving across its surface. The dragons behind it were a deep orange and red, the colors of a sunrise on a stormy morning when the sun set the clouds aflame.

  The threesome swooped onto the shoreline, and their back-beating wings kicked up sand and brought the smell of burning sulfur to her. Her breath always caught when they landed, with the grand sweep of those glorious mailed wings. Dyrfinna wanted to be one of those riders, to sit in that seat and guide a dragon.

  The crowd rolled back from the hulking beast. Dyrfinna let the crowd push her against Skeggi’s side, just to feel his heat and the skin of his arm against hers. She grinned, enjoying his nearness, and tickled Aesa’s ankle. Aesa giggled up in her high perch, the lucky goof, and dug her toes deeper into his thick black beard. Being five years old certainly had its advantages.

  Queen Saehildr’s dragon peered around with a blank, golden-eyed gaze, and the air shimmered with heat around it. It lowered its wings, and the great expanses fell shut and tucked into its sides, neat as any bird—if a bird happened to be a fifty-cubit long dragon that could kill with fire.

  Then the queen dismounted her dragon. She wore a black riding cloak, spun from triple-thick felt and fur, for her mount sailed into the highest regions of the sky, where the air was far thinner, and the winds brutal. She’d told Dyrfinna once that the heat off the dragon helped her stay warm at that high altitude.

  Queen Saehildr waited for her guard to dismount, then gathered her many skirts and leapt up onto a great boulder so she could be heard. The crowd grew silent. No one stirred, no one spoke, except for a little baby fussing quietly, and its papa whispering, “shh shh shh” under his breath.

  “Skala citizens,” the queen addressed them in a vibrant voice that carried well over the crowd. “The ships following me across the water are bringing home every one of your loved ones. Freyja granted me the lives of every one of my warriors so that not one left for Valhalla. All have fought bravely and earned honor for their families.”