The dragon stretched its neck out at the approaching ship with a growl. Flames flickered from its nostrils.
People on the ship shouted, “Whoa!” and the ship quickly reversed and rowed off.
The three of them came up alongside the floating dragon. As soon as the little boat bumped against the dragon’s side, Skeggi clambered up onto its back, nearly falling into the water in his haste. As soon as he saw Rjupa, he sucked in his breath. “Oh, Odin,” he said as he began untying her from her harnesses.
She cried out in pain, her voice hoarse.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Skeggi whimpered, but his shoulders were shaking.
“Let me up there, quick.” Gefjun stood in the boat, trying to balance.
Dyrfinna boosted her up onto the dragon behind Rjupa. Gefjun pulled her dagger out and swiftly cut away both harness and clothing. Gefjun and Skeggi were still partially invisible, and it looked like two ghosts were at work trying to rescue Rjupa. Gefjun was singing the whole time, trying to ease Rjupa’s pain.
Skeggi slid from the dragon into the boat, sending it down into the water and then bounding all over. Dyrfinna held onto the webbing of the dragon’s wing, both feet planted in the bottom of the boat, fighting to keep the boat as steady as possible.
“Slide her down here,” Skeggi said, holding his arms up.
Gefjun slid Rjupa off the dragon’s seat. Rjupa screamed and grabbed at Gefjun with hands that looked like raw meat. Skeggi caught her in his arms, and Gefjun tumbled ignobly into the boat.
“Row, row,” Skeggi said as he sat down hard with Rjupa in his arms. She was crying with agony, but silently, because her face was burned, and probably the inside of her throat as well, Dyrfinna guessed, her guts churning.
“Put her on the bottom of the boat,” Gefjun ordered.
Skeggi shook his head hard, just clutched her though she whimpered in pain. Gefjun nearly snapped at him but Dyrfinna pointed at the ship coming up. Ulf was bringing Skeggi’s ship forward to meet them.
“Fine, we can get her in there.” Gefjun sat down with Dyrfinna, and they both put their backs into rowing.
In moments they met Skeggi’s ship. They handed Rjupa aboard, an agonizing transfer. Then her three friends followed. Dyrfinna came along last after tying a rope to the fisher so the boat would follow. The invisibility spell had not quite worn off, so Rjupa was more solid and real than the ship and people around her. Her burned skin looked even worse as a result.
With a word from Ulf—and with King Varinn’s ships closing in—Skeggi’s ship sprang away, following Dyrfinna’s ship in the retreat.
Dyrfinna shook her head, looking over her shoulder. They were the last to leave the battle. King Varinn’s forces were pursuing, of course; arrows came flying in, and everybody who had a shield lifted it against that deadly rain.
But then Rjupa’s dragon ponderously rose from the water into the air, wings laboring. When she gained a little altitude, she started laying down fire at those ships. They retreated quickly.
The black dragons hung back and watched the queen’s ships go. There was a code of chivalry among dragonriders that bade them to respect a fallen dragonrider. Though they were enemies, they still followed that code, that custom.
And so the queen’s ships escaped, banners trailing in defeat, and pushed back toward Skala. Not far. But when they finally put to land, they had lost all the territory they’d gained, because the place they landed was not far from where Dyrfinna and her crew had held their own only a day or two ago.
In the meantime, King Varinn’s fleet had moved up along the water and blocked their passage back to Varinn’s keep … and their ships were that much closer to Skala.
The sun had set by this time so the fighters gathered their wood and lit their cook fires. Some of the fighters already had been fishing as they came in, and began frying up their catch for supper.
The conversation around the fires was subdued. Everybody talked in low voices about how Sinkr had thrown away a quarter of the fleet in a stupid move that had gotten many brave warriors killed. And many wondered what blunder he’d make tomorrow, and how many would die of that.
Ostryg came over and joined them for a little while at the fire, brokenhearted. He had watched, up close, as the warriors in those six queen’s ships had been surrounded, overwhelmed, and killed. “They were just ground up,” he told them. “They were all just ground up like sausage. The poor bastards didn’t even have a chance.” He started to cry.
Dyrfinna pitied him. It was hard to see so many die for a stupid reason. And for all his bluster, Ostryg really did have a heart.
Sinkr wasn’t taking responsibility for the defeat, though. He claimed to everyone that would listen that their defeat was because of the smaller forces not doing their part. “If they’d done their part we wouldn’t have lost so many. They weren’t brave enough to stand and fight,” he said.
In the meantime, they laid Rjupa down with the other wounded fighters. Gefjun kept bathing her in cool water and singing healing songs. Skeggi couldn’t stop crying, but he did everything she asked him to do to help Rjupa.
Into The Fire
As night came on, warriors fell asleep around their fires, and a hush fell over the land. Dyrfinna lay wrapped in her sea cloak, thinking again of Hakr and his last words to her. She needed to get his ring and brooch home to his wife and daughter. And she grieved for such a fine old man, a great captain, soldier, and sailor. They would miss him, all of them.
Gefjun had been singing over Rjupa for most of the evening. Then other healers had taken over for her, so she joined them at the cook fire. Skeggi stayed with Rjupa, lying on the ground to catch a little sleep, but every time a wave of pain struck her, he sat up and did his best to ease her pain.
So much emotion overwhelmed Dyrfinna. She had not been able to stay with them for very long. So she lay by her cook fire, Gefjun quietly buzzing as she slept. Dyrfinna, listening to the sound, slipped into sleep.
An odd light woke her.
She opened her eyes. The stars were bright, brilliant. She’d never seen them this bright.
But then she saw that she lay on a thick layer of green leaves.
Ash leaves.
She froze with her hand on those leaves. Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes up from the ground.
There she stood, the tall, imperial woman, deep blue cloak wrapped around her, regarding Dyrfinna.
Skuld.
One hand clutched a spear, glowing gently; the other gripped a huge shield with an unblinking eye looking straight at Dyrfinna.
A lead weight fell into her gut. Her mouth went dry, and she bowed her head before the goddess, eyes fixed on the green leaves carpeting the ground.
For the first time, Skuld spoke. “Come with me,” the Norn said in a resonant voice that went straight through Dyrfinna like a shiver.
“Please tell me where we are going,” Dyrfinna said, cautiously, formally.
Skuld’s stern eyes did not soften. “Come with me,” Skuld said again.
Dyrfinna suddenly realized that the gods didn’t understand her, didn’t understand humans. They were guided by their own desires which were far beyond those of mankind. Gods would drive humans to follow those destinies, not understanding or caring if those destinies were too cruel. Not understanding how an unbending edict from above could tear a human into two and kill her.
They could kill her, then blame her for not being able to carry out their will.
Dyrfinna felt sick. She breathed deeply. She pushed herself up from the ground, mastering her fear. She stood and faced the goddess Skuld, not meeting her eyes.
Skuld bowed her head slightly, then turned and walked into the mist. Dyrfinna took another deep breath and followed her.
For a moment, Dyrfinna walked through a place of shadows.
Then suddenly, she walked into daylight behind the goddess. Daylight, and they stood on the side of a mountain that Dyrfinna recognized at once. Her heart leapt. For this was P
yrr Mountain, a place she’d climbed many times, and down below was her home city. Skala.
But it wasn’t Skala at all.
Her heart plunged in horror.
Houses everywhere were on fire. Gouts of black smoke roiled into the sky over the city. Even from here, the peaceful mountainside rang with distant screams and cries of hundreds of suffering people, with the roars of fires, and the awful shouts of attackers.
“Come and see,” Skuld said quietly.
The next moment, they stood before Gefjun’s house, which was completely ablaze. In front of the house, Gefjun’s mother writhed on the ground in flames. A score of men surrounded her, laughing and saying, “She’s mine first!” Nearby, Gefjun’s father lay twitching on the ground as he bled out his life, his neck chopped nearly in half.
Dyrfinna pulled her sword out, swung her shield around, and screamed as she sprang at King Varinn’s men to cut them down in bloody death—
But she went right through them as if they were clouds—body, sword, and shield.
Dyrfinna screamed in frustration and sliced at them again, and again, but each time her sword swung through open air. They continued to laugh and push each other as they watched Gefjun’s mother burn to death. They didn’t even know she was there.
“You are not allowed to interfere,” Skuld said with no trace of emotion.
Dyrfinna snarled. “Goddess though you are, you can’t tell me what to do.”
She ran, sword and shield still in hand.
Ash and burning chaff rained down from the sky. Black soot fell like a blizzard. Smoke settled over the houses, thick and choking. But it didn’t affect her.
A squadron of Vikings rushed through the main streets of Skala. At their head, her sword aloft, was Nauma, laughing joyously.
The child-killers had come to Skala.
“This reminds me of happier days when I was a child,” Nauma cried, taking in the sight of people being slaughtered in the streets and houses collapsing in a tornado of flame and debris. “Ah, memories!”
Dyrfinna swung through Nauma with her sword several times, as hard as she could, just for that statement. Not that it did any good, she thought, nearly beside herself as she raced to her house.
She reached her home … just as fire burst through the smoking thatch on the roof, angry orange flames roaring and devouring it.
Her home was ablaze.
And from inside, the screams of her mother and little sister seized her by the throat.
Varinn’s soldiers stood around the front door, mocking their screams and laughing. “Come on out, children!” they called. “If you don’t want to come out, we’ll burn you out.”
The door banged open and little Aesa burst out, all in flames, screaming and crying. “Sissy! Sissy!”
She ran right into the arms of a man who sneered and brought out his knife.
Dyrfinna screamed.
And she startled awake.
It was night. Dyrfinna lay on the ground, wrapped in her sea cloak, surrounded by her shipmates, and they were far from home.
Gefjun, who slept nearby, stretched with a groan. “Oh no. What’s wrong? Is Rjupa dying?” She tried to stir herself and get up.
“No, no, it’s not … not Rjupa,” Dyrfinna stammered out. “It’s a dream. A … oh, God!” she cried out, sobbing again.
She fought to her feet and staggered away. She couldn’t even talk. She choked on her tears. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do.
It was not a dream only—it was a vision. She knew that in her bones. Skuld had led her there to show her. Show her mother burned to death in a fire, show Aesa running to a man with a knife, show her that the child-killers were in Skala. She’d had the chance to stop them and she had failed.
Dyrfinna ran to the top of the mountain and screamed.
And the first thing that met her eye was Rjupa’s dragon, flying in low to see what was the matter.
A dragon.
“Take me home! They’re burning Skala! They’re burning my little sister!” Dyrfinna choked on snot and tears. She spit on the ground so she could talk. “Take me there!”
A fighter who had followed her took a hold of Dyrfinna. “It was a bad dream. It’s morning now. It’s okay.”
She tore away from his grip. “Take me back home!” she screamed at the dragon.
“She can’t take you anywhere,” the fighter said. “She is charged with protecting these troops. You are not a dragon rider—”
Dyrfinna shoved that guy hard and he fell.
“Dragon!” she screamed. “It was a vision. Varinn’s men, the child-killers, are in the streets of Skala right now, burning houses to the ground, and killing our people. We have no time to waste!”
“Seize her!” Sinkr said, and a bunch of guards came running.
Dyrfinna grabbed her dagger out of its sheath and turned her left arm over, looking at its underside. That would do.
And then she levered in the dagger and cut off a piece of her flesh.
She nearly felt like vomiting from the pain, and from watching herself do this, but she jammed her teeth together and drove that point through her muscle and flesh. Not too much flesh, because she still needed to hold a sword and kill those monsters who laughed at her little sister while she died. She needed just enough flesh to placate a dragon.
Sinkr and his guards stopped, wide-eyed.
She sawed off the last bit, very close to passing out, and lifted the small strip of flesh to the dragon. Blood ran freely from her arm. “Take this. And take me to my sister, now.”
The dragon brought its face down to her hand. She delicately accepted Dyrfinna’s sacrifice.
Dyrfinna held out her arm, the wound overflowing with blood. By now she could hardly keep her feet, but said, “I have got to go home. Now. Skala is burning.”
The dragon sniffed, then licked the wound.
Dyrfinna hissed. It felt like her skin and her wound had been cauterized. It sizzled. But, when the dragon drew back, the bleeding had stopped. She could hardly see from the pain and nausea, but at least she wasn’t going to bleed to death.
Rjupa’s dragon looked around for a moment, then it lowered its head to her and lay its wings low. It motioned its head to its back.
Climb up, it said. I will take you.
Dyrfinna was astonished. If it had spoken before, she’d never heard it. She clambered aboard.
People were watching, astonished. Sinkr shouted, “Get off that dragon at once!”
“I won’t be long,” she said. “Dragon, go! Go now!”
The wings pumped, and Dyrfinna clung to its back, dizzy as it fought against gravity to get airborne. Some people were screaming at her down below. “You’re going to get us all killed!”
She’d have to be fast. But that vision, her sister. “The child-killers are in Skala!” she cried. “They’re burning the town. I will come back.”
She turned the dragon’s head toward home.
“Dragon, my dream showed Skala on fire and the child-killers invading.”
I know you are telling the truth, it said. I saw the vision on you. Otherwise I would have scorned your sacrifice.
She found the straps blowing loose in the wind and tied them securely around her.
“Hurry, dragon,” Dyrfinna cried. Her tears were flowing, but they were freezing to her face as the wind blew them back. “My sister. They set her on fire.” She choked.
It may be that the dream is a presentiment, said the dragon. Something that hasn’t happened yet. Something that you might have the power to stop.
Dyrfinna gasped. “Do you think so?” She was afraid to let herself believe that it was a presentiment. Her heart died in despair every time the horror of the vision pushed its way into her thoughts.
We will see. But I need you to understand that this cannot be a suicide mission, said the dragon. Your people need me and I need them. You must not throw away my life if we meet the child-killers.
That stopped Dyrfinna’s heart.
She’d just pilfered a defender of her people, the strongest weapon they had, and had taken it on a little joyride.
Battle sense kicked in.
“Think, Dyrfinna, think about what lies ahead,” she said quietly to herself, just the way Grandma used to.
“Pull up,” she commanded the dragon. “Can we see Skala from here?”
We will have to go very high. With a huge surge of its wings, it rose up. Dyrfinna held on for dear life, leaning almost flat against its back, her knuckles white on the forward strap, her legs gripping its sides so tight that they were shaking. Her breath went shorter and shorter as the air thinned and the temperature dropped.
She breathed as deep as she could but couldn’t get any oxygen in. Her ears popped.
Then the dragon said, Look to your right.
Through a scrim of far-away distance haze—or maybe her own dizziness from lack of oxygen—she saw Skala, looking very small, like a picture drawn in miniature with the tiniest of quills.
Something moved in the air above the miniature city.
Dragons. Three of them. From this distance, they looked like tiny dried leaves fluttering in a scrap of wind. Or three gnats fighting.
Then fire blossomed from one of the dragons, a pinprick of fire. And two more fire blossoms.
“Is our dragon under attack?” Dyrfinna could hardly speak in the thin air.
Yes, if I read the signs aright.
“Bring me down!” she commanded, hardly able to catch her breath. “Bring me down!”
Black lines drew close to the harbor—King Varinn’s ships.
“They’ll see us if we’re up this high. It’s you and me against the two enemy dragons. We need the element of surprise to make a stronger attack.” Dyrfinna said, really upon the point of fainting now. “Down to the treetops!”
They dove. Dyrfinna drew a deep breath as the air grew thick. Her ears popped and popped again, hurting so badly that she wondered if they bled. But when they popped, suddenly she could hear again.
“Go down close over the treetops. Skim as close as you can.” She looked ahead over the terrain. “And go back around Pyrr Mountain. Keep the mountain and the foothills between us and the town.”
Dragons and Mages: A Limited Edition Anthology Page 19
