Dragons and Mages: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  Fighters gathered at the Queen’s hall now. Dyrfinna walked through this crowd—barrel-chested men with beards so thick, a flock of birds could live in them. Wiry men with skinny lances. Women with blonde hair braided back tight, wide shields hanging on their backs. Mr. Ragnarok came lumbering up, more mountain than man. “Why, hello there, wolf-snuffer,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. He was a large man, so for a moment all that Dyrfinna could see was his triceps filling the whole world.

  “Hello,” she replied, not that anybody could hear her from inside his arm.

  He released her. “That wolf tried to do a number on your arm,” he asked, pointing at the patchwork. “But you didn’t let him by, did you?”

  She grinned.

  Just then Gefjun skipped up to her, with Ostryg moseying behind. “There you are!” she said. “I’m going to be a shieldmaiden and a nurse. I’ll bring the fighters water on the battlefield and direct the removal of the wounded.”

  Dyrfinna nodded. “I’m glad. You’re a good nurse, a great healer.”

  “I learned from the best,” Gefjun said. “It also helps if my patients are not whiny little babies needing cookies.”

  “Hey, you better not be mocking me.” Dyrfinna punched Gefjun lightly in the shoulder. To which Gefjun drew her sword.

  “Fight! Fight!” Dyrfinna cried, pulling her sword, and they did a little fancy sword-play right there in the middle of the road, laughing at each other.

  “Put up your swords, you goofballs,” Skeggi said. “You’re going to hurt somebody.”

  Laughing, Dyrfinna sheathed her sword.

  “It’s all fun and games until somebody gets their eye poked out,” Gefjun said.

  “Girls, this is a serious occasion,” Ostryg droned into his beard, fingering the braids he’d added in at some point to doll it up.

  “Don’t call us girls. Are you going on the battlefield, or are you staying behind the battle lines with Gefjun?” Dyrfinna asked him, her tone sharper than she intended.

  He just gave her a long stare, then kept walking as if she didn’t exist. “We need to talk to the commander to make sure we can share a tent.”

  Dyrfinna’s eyebrows went up.

  Gefjun laughed. “It’s not going to be like that,” she whispered. “He’s just afraid to leave me alone in the midst of violent men.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dyrfinna said under her breath.

  Gefjun grinned. “Spare a thought for me when you’re pining away for—”

  “Stop.” Dyrfinna’s voice was hard. Skeggi stood nearby looking out to sea, and didn’t seem to notice.

  The little group fell silent. Skeggi looked at them, his reverie about his ladylove Rjupa broken. “What happened? Did I miss something?”

  “No,” Gefjun said. “A Valkyrie flew overhead, I suppose.”

  Skeggi nodded and looked back out to sea. Ostryg joined him. “I’ve brought some paint,” he said. “When we land, we should paint our shields to match.”

  Skeggi said, “We can put dragons on them.”

  “Dragons with beards,” Ostryg said, and Skeggi laughed.

  Dyrfinna stared at the ground as she walked. But Gefjun was at her side. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for my words to cut so deep. I’m a sarcastic girl.”

  Dyrfinna shrugged with her good arm but didn’t reply.

  Gefjun was quiet. Then, in a low voice, she sang a song, gentle and healing, for Dyrfinna alone.

  Peace comes down

  Like soft spring rain

  And soothes your aching heart.

  The song worked on Dyrfinna’s heart, and she felt better. “Thank you.”

  “I can sing that as often as you like,” Gefjun said, and she bumped gently against Dyrfinna’s good side. They walked together like that for a while until they reached the top of the hill where the queen’s hall stood.

  The royal hall, the seat of the queen, stood over the fjord. Tonight, a great bustle and movement surrounded this house. The slope led from the house down to a long stone pier by the waterside where the great black ships lay. Warriors worked hard, carrying provisions and weapons to the ships. Here and there in the crowd was a bright cloak or a gilded helm to show a person of rank. The sun gleamed on helmets, coats of mail, and the noise of preparation filled the air.

  Dyrfinna had a sleek, dark ship sitting in the harbor below. Her crew was placing a dragon’s head on the prow.

  One of their red dragons circled, looking to the left and right. Its burning body roared straight over her ship, and Dyrfinna threw her head back in wonder. The sun shone through those gigantic wings, as if shining through thick, red smoke. She exulted in the storming of the wind against its wings, and she felt the heat from the dragon’s body even far below on the ship, and its great shadow fell over her.

  Her heart always leapt at those wings. How she loved to fly! Her papa had paid for dragon riding lessons for her and her sword-friends, and Dyrfinna was especially capable on a dragon’s back.

  She needed to see the queen. She loaded up her gear on the ship, then went back up the hill to see Queen Saehildr.

  The queen knew Dyrfinna through her papa, who had gone on many missions for her as her ambassador. She’d given him golden arm-rings as a sign of her regard for his faithful service. His parents, her grandparents, were merchants and had settled here after many years of working out of the Balkans, and Dyrfinna’s papa had risen in the ranks through good service on her behalf.

  “Your highness,” she said when she joined the queen at the top of the hill, looking out at all her fighters mustering.

  Queen Saehildr turned and smiled, the tail of her riding jacket flapping in the wind. “Well met, Dyrfinna.”

  Giddiness bubbled up in Dyrfinna, but she schooled her expression and raised her head. “I would like a command in the army.”

  “A position of command,” the queen said, nodding slowly. “You’ve already come with recommendations.”

  “Indeed.” Dyrfinna spoke formally, as one does in these situations. “From whom?”

  “Your swordmaster, for one.”

  Dyrfinna bowed slightly. “I hope I may do her honor. Who else?”

  “Your father.”

  Dyrfinna’s face flushed deeply. She stammered, “I hope I may do him honor as well.”

  She was flabbergasted that he had recommended her. She almost felt like it was a slap. Be careful what you wish for, her papa had told her time and again when she’d asked him about his command.

  Now he was going to show her why she should have been careful.

  But I have been careful, Dyrfinna thought at her father with some heat. I have been. I am nothing if not careful.

  Queen Saehildr gave her a sympathetic look. “I was surprised by your father’s recommendation, too.” She glanced out at the crowds and sighed. “I wish we had time to walk in the gardens and talk about this, but by today it is impossible.

  “Also, I’m afraid I can’t give you a command,” the queen said. “I have all my positions of command filled. But prove yourself in battle, do some good work. Attrition in the ranks will happen, through death or disease. It always happens. Then you can move up.”

  “What if I got you some dragon eggs along the way?” Dyrfinna joked. “Would that make a promotion?”

  “Ha! That might just do it!” The queen laughed.

  Papa always said, be careful what you wish for.

  Running Before The Storm

  Queen Saehildr’s army set off in black ships before midday. They rowed their way out to the mouth of the fjord, leaving behind the crowd on shore. Dyrfinna wanted to wave to Aesa, who she’d left crying in Mama’s arms, but she was one of the oarsmen and didn’t have an arm free.

  “I’ll come home for you,” she said quietly as she rowed with her crewmates. “I swear it.”

  Out at sea, beyond the high headlands that lay before them, the whitecaps of the waves gleamed in the sunshine. The rhythm of the oarsmen picked up when they saw
the open sea. The ships rolled out of the fjord, and the boom of the sea breaking on the rocks grew louder and louder, lifting Dyrfinna’s heart.

  But once they reached the open water, the fresh breeze blew. “Up sail!” called the exuberant captain. “Ship oars!”

  The rowers brought the oars in with a great clatter, water flying everywhere. Dyrfinna got up from the rowing benches and joined the crew, heaving on the ropes to raise the sail. The great sail consisted of a huge length of straight pine, wider than the full span of a man’s hand, which had enough heavy-woven cloth hung from it to cover part of the village. Dyrfinna wiped the sweat from her brow as she finished. The sail caught the deep sea-wind and billowed out. The ship leaned. Slowly at first, then more quickly, the boat cut the open water, the rest of the fleet around it rushing over the waves along like birds in flight.

  Before long, they were flying before the wind gloriously, and Dyrfinna could catch her breath in the cool breeze.

  “Hello, little Finna!” cried the exuberant old captain, Hakr, as he joined her. “Ye dogs and little fishes, it is a pleasure to see you again here on the wide waves.”

  Dyrfinna leaned in for his embrace. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Old captain that he was, Hakr had sailed for years for Dyrfinna’s grandpa, and he knew the seas like the palm of his hand. He’d fought pirates and Vikings alongside Dyrfinna’s grandpa, who understood the battle strategies of many nations.

  “Ah, I used to help you toddle around on deck when you were just a teeny lass. You’d hold my finger with your wee hand and stump around, so serious. Little did I dream that someday, you would have your ship in my service.”

  “I need your expertise,” she said, resting her arms on the side of the ship. “You’ve voyaged all over the watery part of the world; you’ve fought many battles alongside my father. I welcome your help.” She didn’t mean to get grandiloquent. She loved Hakr’s exuberant way of speaking, and she found herself echoing it whenever she was around him.

  The wind was right smart, thrilling in the ropes and in her ears. “That’s very good fortune for us all, an auspicious start,” the old captain told her, his eyes traveling over the ropes, watching the sail.

  Dyrfinna leaned over the side with the other warriors, watching the water and telling wild stories. Gefjun, Ostryg, and Skeggi were with her, enjoying the wind. Several brothers who had each ended up on different ships shouted at each other across the water and brandished his sword whenever his ship took the lead. The other Vikings cheered.

  Theirs was a tidy fleet of twelve ships, each bearing about fifty people. Many of these were soldiers to fight for the queen, while some were nurses, or laundresses, or sailors, as well as sundry folk like blacksmiths and cooks, who would be needed to fix weapons or horseshoes or feed the rest of the crew.

  The day started bright and warm, but later, clouds began gathering and the skies grew darker. A lot of the Vikings looked up at the skies the way Dyrfinna did, worried.

  “I don’t like the looks of this sky,” Gefjun said, and Ostryg nodded. “Looks like dirty weather.”

  But their commander, who just happened to be passing by, snorted. He was a young buck named Sinkr. He’d just walked right aboard her ship without asking permission just before they’d left.

  “Only a little bit further,” Sinkr said, crossing his arms. “There’s a good place to camp up ahead—a place where we can watch for King Varinn’s army, and they can’t sneak up on us while we cook a big meal over fine fires.”

  Dyrfinna shook her head, watching the storm clouds scudding past. “That’s all very nice, but we can’t cook a big meal over fine fires if our bones are lying at the bottom of the ocean,” she muttered to her friends.

  Sinkr heard. “You talk like a coward,” he said. “If we get ahead of the fleet, then we can meet the rest of the King Varinn’s army first. Great glory will be mine when I lead you into that fray.”

  Oh, of course, Dyrfinna thought, raising an eyebrow at her friends. So you’re doing this just for your own glory. Which, by the way, won’t exist, because without the rest of our army at our back, we’ll be outmatched and slaughtered.

  “The rest of our fleet has gone to shelter,” Skeggi pointed out.

  Fortunately, just then the captain joined them. “We must land,” he said. “These young’uns are right. This wind is treacherous, and the landing will be dangerous if we go farther.”

  The wind snorted as it blew over them, and full, heavy clouds moved toward them from the east. The sail, which had been neatly bellied out, full of wind, now had winds gusting on both sides. The ropes and pullies rattled as the sail snapped and burst full of wind, then deflated.

  “That doesn’t matter,” said Sinkr. “We will continue on.”

  “We will not continue on. My ship, my rules!” the old captain said. “Stand down. Or by Odin I’ll make you sit down, with one swing of my fist.” He rolled up his sleeves, exposing arms as big as oak trees.

  The commander’s face lost color, and he retreated.

  “Change course!” Hakr cried to the man at the steering oar. “To shore, swiftly! Crew, bring down the sail!”

  But by now the wind was too strong to bring down the sail, as they found when a corner of the sail snapped so hard that it nearly flung a man overboard.

  “We’ll just do our best with the sail up. Out oars!” the captain cried.

  The oars came rattling out of the oarlocks as the nearest rowers leapt to their benches. Dyrfinna joined them swiftly, grabbing the middle of a smooth oar along with two other men.

  “Row! Make for shore, swiftly! Bend the tiller thither!” the captain cried.

  Dyrfinna bent her back into the rowing, following the rhythm of a small drum in the front of the ship, ignoring the burning pain in her injured arm. The busy ocean was full of a hundred splashes of the oars dipping in, or pulling, or popping up out of the water.

  “Heave with a mighty pull,” the Vikings were singing, and those who did song magic—Gefjun and several others—were singing an invigorating song that gave Dyrfinna and her comrades more strength to pull the oars. The ship skimmed forward, fleet as a swallow on the water.

  The Vikings ran before the wind with oars and sail, aiming for the shelter of the land. But just as the captain predicted, a dark line of cliffs stretched before them as far as the eye could see. White flashes of waves broke along the rocks that crowded along the cliff walls. The ship would be torn to pieces by the rocks and waves if they attempted to land.

  “Change course again!” the captain said, pointing out the direction for the man at the steering oar, and the boat swung until it was flying parallel to the cliffs.

  Everybody rowed, even the commander, Dyrfinna noted. Just then, a heavy squall struck the boat, and every rope screamed in the wind. A stiff gale ripped across the deck. The wind shrieked, grew horribly cold, and a deluge tore down from the sky, drenching Dyrfinna and her crewmates. They clung to their oars. She felt as if the wind were trying to rip the oar from their hands, and the hard rain smacked the backs of her arms and her face.

  Land looked so far away.

  “Hold steady, oarsmen! Hold steady!” the captain cried, bellowing over the roar of waves and rain and wind. The man at the steering oar was joined by two others, to hold the straining oar.

  The huge waves rose higher, breaking over the sides of the ship.

  Dyrfinna glanced wildly across the water, but the falling rain was so thick that she could see nothing through it. No sight of land, or islands, or even ocean. Just the roar of rain on the ship’s deck and sail, the ship pitching wildly on the choppy waves, and the wind screaming down from the sky, driving the rain hard against them, and the ship running like a mad thing before the gale.

  Dyrfinna held on to her oar, but some huge rogue wave pitched the ship hard to the left. Dyrfinna went tumbling, slammed against the ship’s side, and nearly fell into the ocean with several other warriors.

  Skeggi grabbed her arms
and pulled her away from the side—smiling. It was a miracle that he could keep his feet in this storm, and yet there he was, saving her life as if it was no big deal.

  “Isn’t this great?” he shouted over the raging tempest, leading her away from the side of the ship just as they got dashed with ice-cold salt water.

  “I’m afraid not!” she shouted.

  She crawled to the middle of the ship and clung to one of the benches as the cold water in the bottom of the boat rolled and sloshed over her. The flat-bottomed ship continued taking on water and riding lower and lower. Many Vikings simply held on for dear life, except for the hardy sailors who leaned hard on the tiller to hold it steady. Their actions alone kept the ship from yawing all over the ocean, a grim and desperate task.

  Finally by late evening, the storm died away, though the rain kept falling. Little by little, the high waves calmed. A chill settled in Dyrfinna’s bones, but thankfully the wind had died. Exhausted men and women fell asleep on the rowing benches. Those who could not sleep searched for leaks in the ship’s side and tried to plug them. Some bailed water out of the bottom of the boat. Others stood at the side of the ship, peering into the darkness, looking for the distant gleam of fire somewhere—anywhere—that they could steer toward. In the darkness, there was nothing to navigate toward. All was pitch-black.

  But then, the old captain Hakr cried out. “Ah! The stars!” A small space of sky cleared, and some stars gleamed through.

  “The Sword,” Dyrfinna said, recognizing a bit of the constellation that peeped through the clouds.

  “That it is, my dear,” said the old captain. “Oarsman, adjust to starboard.” He called out directions, recalibrating the ship’s course, until he was satisfied. “My directions will be truer once I see the land around us and can guide off that. Until then, this will do.” He wrapped himself in his sea cloak and lay down on a couple of sea chests. In a moment he was snoring.