Dragons and Mages: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  “I object! I vociferously object,” Captain Hakr cried. “She has fought gallantly and with distinction against an enemy ten times our size.”

  Sinkr seemed astonished at all their outrage. “What is the big deal here?”

  “You are saying that you’re stripping her of rank and throwing her out of our army,” a woman archer said.

  “No!” Sinkr said scornfully. “I’m not saying that at all. Where are you getting that?”

  “From the words coming out of your mouth,” Dyrfinna said. “When you say that I’m relieved of command, that’s what those words mean.”

  “I just want you to go away,” he snapped. “I wasn’t saying any of that at all.”

  Dyrfinna’s hands fisted. “Then you need to stop using military language if you don’t know what it means.”

  Sinkr thrust a finger into her face. “You’re in way over your head, little missy.”

  Though she generally would not have let that ridiculous taunt stand, this time she ignored it, staring at his arm. “Wait, wait,” she said softly, taking his hand. “Look at this.”

  Confused by her sudden soft words, Sinkr stopped and let her take his hand.

  She stretched out his arm in front of him, then held hers up next to it.

  His arm was pale and clean. Next to his arm, hers looked awful. Her hand was sticky and red with fresh blood; her arm was black with dried blood, dirt, cuts, and huge, colorful bruises from sword hits. And now she noticed a really ugly slash that she didn’t remember getting, now black and crusted.

  Sinkr’s face darkened with anger. But she didn’t release him. Not yet.

  “My fighters have been doing some intense fighting over the last two days with precious little food, water, or rest. We have scores of dead to bury, and prisoners to process.” Only now did she release his arm. He yanked it back, but she kept talking. “You might not realize this, but we need a good meal and a little rest. If your forces could pitch in with this work, you would be doing my fighters a great service.”

  “You are not the commander. I am,” he spat.

  Dyrfinna spoke quietly, but projected her voice so that the hushed troops around them could hear. “I was commanding some mighty warriors while you, Sinkr, were lying back at your leisure getting your beard braided. I only ask that you treat these fighters with the honor they have earned. Give us food and provisions. Help us bury our dead. ”

  Sinkr looked at the tiny, intricate braids in his blonde beard, rolling them between his fingers. Then he looked at Dyrfinna with raw hate in his eyes. “You are dismissed. Get out of my sight.”

  She was more than glad to. She needed sleep.

  Hotshots

  Dyrfinna could have slept for two days, but she was up again after a few hours due to a bone-chilling caterwauling. The scream broke off into quiet sobbing, coming from the wounded soldiers where Gefjun had been working. Gefjun was already gone from where she’d been sleeping, and she’d covered Dyrfinna with her sea cloak.

  Shaking her head, Dyrfinna got up, still groggy. She put her sea cloak back on though it was stiff with dried blood and went to find something to eat. It was late afternoon, and she hadn’t eaten since that little bit of fish and panbread early that morning.

  She was pleased to see that the queen’s forces had been gathering the dead and building a pyre, while her soldiers rested.

  Some slept on the ground, wrapped in their cloaks, and a few ate and talked around a cook fire that one of the new arrivals had made.

  One man had fallen asleep while he was eating. Eyes shut, he opened his mouth and took a bite about a hand’s length away from the fish he held. Then he looked slightly perturbed and tried to take another bite. The hand with his fish sank down, and his head slumped forward. He fell over sideways, asleep.

  “I completely understand how he feels,” Dyrfinna said, and the people sitting around the cook fire laughed.

  “Sit with us.” One of the women patted the ground next to her. “If you fall asleep while eating fish, we won’t tell anybody.”

  Another pleasant laugh. Dyrfinna said, “I should probably wash up before I join you. Make myself presentable.”

  “The battle-hardened look is a good one,” said one of the men, holding out his bloody arms. “You’d fit right in with the rest of us.”

  “I love what you did with that Sinkr, making him hold his arms out like that.” An archer mimed what Dyrfinna had done. “Huh, look at that, Sinkr, you haven’t earned the right to command our forces.”

  “Your arms aren’t bloody,” one of the men told the archer.

  Dyrfinna stepped in. “She was dealing death from a treetop and inviting sniper fire in return. I approve of her work.”

  “My hair is a big ball of pine resin right now,” the archer admitted. “I’ll shave it off later.”

  “What are you going to do with that Sinkr?” one of the berserkers mumbled from where he was lying on the ground, half-asleep.

  “There’s not much I can do,” she said ruefully. “He outranks me.”

  “I could fix him,” the berserker said.

  “Don’t do it. Also, you need to rest.” Berserking took a lot out of the berserker.

  “Okay,” said the berserker, and went back to sleep.

  “Sinkr wants to take credit for everything you did,” the archer said. “You can see it in his eyes.”

  “He can’t do that.”

  “Oh, he will.” A man with a magnificent beard, a veteran of many battles, stretched by the fire. “He’s done it before. You’re a smart woman, Dyrfinna, and you’ve saved a lot of lives over the last few days. But watch your back. Sinkr is going to sink a knife in it. That’s where he got his name, you know.”

  “No it’s not,” a man said scornfully. “His name means selfish. Stingy.”

  The bearded warrior rolled his eyes. “It’s a pun.”

  Dyrfinna nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing about him. I appreciate the warning, especially coming from you.”

  The old fighter shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of young commanders come in, all brash and cocksure, swaggering around, thinking their word is law. Then they throw their divisions into battle and run away when the fighting gets too fierce. People like them let their warriors get slaughtered without a second thought. You’re one of the few who actually seems to think something of her troops. Who has a plan when she puts us into battle. Who’s fighting alongside of us, even when the fighting is brutal. Commanders like you are rare.”

  “Hear, hear.” Several Vikings lifted their drinking horns to Dyrfinna, which warmed her heart.

  “But don’t forget this. Ever. Commanders like you also piss off commanders like Sinkr,” the old warrior warned. “They hate that commanders like you exist. See, you do things right. Your soldiers admire that. Through your good conduct, you shine light on all the mistakes he makes. You aren’t doing this on purpose. Not at all. But to people like Sinkr, it’s a deadly affront.”

  “Ah, you’re full of it,” someone said.

  “No, I don’t think he is,” Dyrfinna said, gazing at the veteran. “I believe him. You used to fight with my papa, didn’t you?”

  “That I did.” He bowed his head to her.

  “I saw you during the battle yesterday and today. You did good work standing against the enemy and keeping your fighters strong, especially the ones who’d never seen warfare before. You were able to keep them in line, even when it seemed all was lost.”

  “Now, see? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he said to the fighters around him. “That’s the sort of thing a good commander notices. Not Sinkr. He thinks he won the battle just by standing there and looking pretty.”

  “I was paying you a compliment, sir,” she said, amused.

  “I was paying you one, too.” His eyes twinkled.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why don’t you have a command?”

  He chuckled. “I pissed off too many people like Sinkr,” he said, and took
a drink from his horn.

  Dyrfinna got cleaned up, turning the cold creek water into a mess of brown and red before the current swept it away. She was freezing, but felt much better once she got her fresh clothes on.

  The red dragon glided overhead, with Rjupa and Skeggi on board. “Hi, Dyrfinna!” Rjupa called, and Dyrfinna waved up at them. She was thankful that they flew by now, instead of when she had her leg sticking out of the water, scrubbing blood out from between her toes.

  Rjupa, Rjupa, how did you manage to become a dragonrider?

  Dyrfinna found Gefjun at the cook fire and sat with her. Ostryg had some fish and a couple of geese cooking, and the savory smell of the cooking meat made Dyrfinna’s stomach growl. Finally they were getting a meal, a proper meal.

  Ostryg cuddled up with Gefjun. Once in a while the dragon would go flying around in some corner of the sky with Skeggi and Rjupa on its back. Dyrfinna had her empty stomach for a companion. No matter, she had bigger things to think about, like how to deal with Sinkr.

  Out of nowhere, Ostryg said, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  She slowly raised her head. “Is this a joke?”

  Ostryg shrugged. “Why would it be? You’re sitting over there all broody and staring into the fire so I assumed you were thinking about a boyfriend.”

  Dyrfinna poked at the fire with a stick. “I had a boyfriend, but he kept asking me stupid questions. So I killed him.”

  Gefjun peeked out from the shelter of his arms. “I’ve tried to get you a boyfriend.”

  “Why are we talking about this now? I’m trying to plan the next attack.”

  Gefjun gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s because of Skeggi.”

  Dyrfinna shook her head. “Nope. Actually, it isn’t.”

  Then Ostryg had to stick in his oar. “It’s because Dyrfinna holds everybody at arm’s length. That’s why.”

  Dyrfinna put down the rabbit spit and stared at him for a long moment.

  “Case in point,” Ostryg said when she didn’t speak.

  Partly because the things I say in private get used against me, she thought.

  “Watch my rabbit for me,” she said instead, and left.

  “Dyrfinna, get back here,” Gefjun said. “He didn’t mean it like that.”

  Ostryg said, “Ah, let her go. Then we can have this cook fire all to ourselves.” Dyrfinna heard a kiss.

  But then the dragon landed a little ways off and Skeggi and Rjupa tumbled off, smiling broadly, their hair all disheveled. Rjupa came running ahead of Skeggi and hugged her. She accidentally put her hand on her wounded shoulder, and Dyrfinna winced away.

  “Oh,” Rjupa said, pulling back. “You’re walking wounded. I’m sorry.”

  “But it’s so good to see you,” Dyrfinna said, looking into Rjupa’s face. She had pretty gray eyes and flaming red hair and she had the most radiant smile on earth right now. “How’d you get a dragon? I didn’t think anybody could do that.”

  Ostryg came over. “Hey, cousin!” he said as he hugged Rjupa, all smiles. Their mothers were sisters.

  “It’s a long story but a weird one,” Rjupa said from within his embrace. “Ostryg, unhand me, you smell awful.”

  “It’s good old-fashioned sweat,” he said. “It’s what happens to a man when he’s doing the hard work of hewing down enemies in battle.”

  Gefjun grabbed Rjupa’s hand. “Come over to the fire! We have food.”

  “Anyway, Dyrfinna is dying to hear my story,” Rjupa said, sitting down next to her.

  “So she can figure out how to unseat you,” Ostryg said.

  Rjupa just rolled her eyes.

  “I am very jealous of you,” Dyrfinna said. “I won’t unseat you, though.”

  “Anyway, you’d have to go through me,” Skeggi said, reattaching himself to her with his arms.

  “You men!” Rjupa complained. “I can’t stay long, because I have to go on a reconnoitering flight.”

  “Ohhh. Could I go with you?” Dyrfinna pleaded.

  “Well …. ”

  “You took me on a flight,” Skeggi said.

  “But …. ”

  “I want to see the lay of the land and understand the next objectives. We’ll be heading to the battlefield tomorrow, and I want to see what it looks like from the air and use the field to our greatest advantage,” Dyrfinna said.

  “Well, that convinced me,” Rjupa said.

  “But how’d you get a dragon?” Gefjun asked. “You still need to tell us.”

  “Fine! Jennie was our previous dragonrider,” Rjupa said. “Real good at her work, a real hotshot.” A hotshot was what they called the long-seated dragonriders. “When we … when I say ‘we’ I mean the first muster of the queens’ army … when we were going to King Varinn’s keep, we were doing war games out in the woods nearby. We wore disguises that allowed us to blend into the forest. We snuck around looking for ways in and out of the forest, but we couldn’t let King Varinn’s people see us.”

  “Well, duh,” Ostryg said.

  “Shut up.” She swatted Ostryg on the leg. “Problem with that was that I ran across Jennie and one of King Varinn’s men kissing in the forest.”

  Gefjun’s jaw dropped. Ostryg clapped a hand to his forehead.

  Dyrfinna shook her head in disgust. “With the king’s man? Who does that?”

  “Well, Jennie did, apparently. There were enough of us getting an eyeful, so we left Jennie with them. She didn’t want to come back, wanted to give it all up to run off with one of King Varinn’s men.”

  “So then you just walked up to the dragon park and said, ‘I’ll take over from here?’” asked Gefjun.

  “Well … no …. ” Rjupa took off her helmet and scratched her head.

  “Stop pretending to be modest. Just tell us.”

  “I’m not pretending,” Rjupa said, but, oddly, she was getting flustered.

  “Ease up, Gefjun, she’ll tell us,” Dyrfinna said. “I’m curious too, you know.”

  Rjupa grimaced. “I … I really don’t think you want to know.”

  Now it was Dyrfinna’s turn to be puzzled. “What? Why? How come?”

  “The queen called all her staff together to choose a dragonrider. We all came too. And the person who said I needed to be the next dragonrider … Dyrfinna, I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” Dyrfinna asked, confused.

  “Well … it was your papa.”

  Dyrfinna absolutely could not breathe.

  “Wow,” said Skeggi. “That is awful.”

  Dyrfinna tried to stand up and walk away, but just sat down again, dazed.

  “I’m so sorry, Finna,” Rjupa said, putting her hands on her arm.

  Dyrfinna tried to speak, but her mouth just hung stupidly open.

  Ostryg looked back and forth from one person to another. “I don’t get this. What’s the big deal?”

  “Her father said that his own daughter doesn’t get to be dragonrider,” Skeggi said.

  That did it. Dyrfinna had to get up and walk away.

  “Wait! Wait! Don’t go.” Rjupa grabbed her shoulders. Dyrfinna flinched away with a hiss.

  “Sorry. I forgot about your wounds,” Rjupa said, releasing her. “Wait.” She dug in her pouch and pulled out a letter. “Look at this later when you have walked out your anger.”

  Dyrfinna recognized the paper by sight and feel. “Is this from Mama?”

  “Yes. As soon as she heard that I was taking a dragon, she wanted me to wait until she wrote this to you and Aesa drew a picture.”

  Dyfinna ran her fingers over the paper, which her mama made herself out of wood pulp. There were always five or six strainers around the house with paper drying on them. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “Finna, I swear, I was very much pissed off at your papa, too.”

  Dyrfinna laughed, though she didn’t want to. Then she gathered herself. “Did he say … why he did it?”

  “I don’t know. No.”

  “Look. You can tell me.
I know I’m upset, but I’m not angry at you.”

  “He said … okay, this is crap, okay, but … he said you were never going to be ready for it. For dragonriding.”

  Dyrfinna was stunned into quiet.

  “Yeah, that was my response, too. I mean, he knew. He knew what that meant to you. Then he had to make this jerk move of sticking me, your best friend, into the place that you wanted the most in the whole wide world.”

  Not the first time, Dyrfinna thought, though that had hardly been Rjupa’s fault.

  “I couldn’t even enjoy being dragonrider because the whole way out here I was thinking, what am I going to do, the only spot open in a million years and I get shoved into it.”

  “You could retire,” Dyrfinna said slyly.

  “I could. I could very well do so. But do you think your papa would say, ‘Okay, this time, put my little girl in.’ He had a chance to do that and he didn’t. I mean, I’m just trying to think like you, here.”

  Hm. A good point. “You’re doing good,” Dyrfinna said quietly, opening Mama’s letter. “Did Mama know about your appointment?”

  “No. I went there right afterwards, feeling bad, but when she found out I was riding a dragon she said, ‘Oh! let me write Finna a letter,’ and then Aesa wanted to draw you a picture. They never asked me how I was riding a dragon. Which was fine with me.”

  “Don’t make Aesa mad. She’s worse than me.” Dyrfinna took a moment to read Mama’s letter and her news of home. Then she opened Aesa’s picture. It was a picture of two people with stick arms and legs with rays coming out of their heads, standing on something that looked like a seed pod.

  “She said that was you and Aesa on a boat, and you were having adventures. She wanted to fight the wolves with you, but I told her she’d have to wait until she got a little bigger.”

  Dyrfinna was drinking in the picture with a big goofy smile on her face. “I’d do anything for her.” Then she remembered what her papa had done—what he had done to them both—and her smile vanished. “I wanted Aesa to be a dragon queen if she wanted. I still want that for her. But if my papa is being like this, it’s not going to happen.”