Fire and Fury

by K.N. Lee

  Aros and the others were led directly to the throne room.

  There stood Rollo, the Fenrir King, in his human form. He was a large man, of nearly forty, with long, dark hair, and green eyes that peered down at Aros as if he could see straight through him to his soul.

  There was magic in the Fenrir king’s veins, and Aros had grown used to the feel of it in the air when Amalia was around. The king wore a heavy cloak over his fine, embroidered tunic, red sash, and leather pants tucked into tall, leather boots the shined.

  “Aros, son of Reidar the Wise,” King Rollo said, standing from his throne of dark stone and jewels. “Einar told me you’d be coming.”

  A cold chill raced up Aros’ body and landed in his throat.

  No.

  It was then that they were seized by the guards, and dragged away from the throne room—it was then that Aros realized that King Rollo would not be an ally.

  For, he served their enemy.

  The vengeful god, Einar.

  12

  Strong arms shoved Aros into a dark room, as the guards did their duty.

  He’d pleaded for the king to hear him out, and it was to no avail.

  King Rollo never gave any of them a chance, and the heavy weight of failure settled over Aros’ shoulders.

  The creaking, barred door was slammed shut and Aros was left alone in a dungeon cell beneath the palace. It was a small space, with wet hay strewn about the stone floor, and a single chamber pot that smelled of piss in the back corner. There was no light, only slivers of the sun’s rays came in from the tiny windows high up at the top of the cells.

  This was not supposed to happen. Everything had gone wrong within seconds, and there was nothing Aros could do about it. For once, he was completely helpless.

  Enit and Eris had led him here to prepare the Fenrir king.

  He stood there, hands around the bars, forehead pressed to the cool steel. He had to think of a solution. Thinking was his profession, but nothing came to mind as he weighed every option.

  King Rollo had already taken sides. He hadn’t even let him speak his business, and expected his arrival. If he served Einar, Amalia and the dragons were in even greater danger than he'd imagined. They not only had to worry about the Brotherhood, Einar, and the creatures along the way.

  The Wolves would be coming for her, and he was imprisoned.

  Utterly useless.

  “Aros?” Magnus called, breaking him from his thoughts. “Helgi?”

  He looked up, and wiped tears from his eyes. "Aye, everyone all right?"

  “Bloody hell,” Helgi said. "What good those fancy clothes did for us. Sitting in filth and shite. Just brilliant.”

  “We're fine,” Magnus said. “At least we’re alive.”

  “For now,” Helgi added.

  “The king had no reason to condemn us. We’ve done nothing wrong. He will see there has been a mistake and set us free,” Magnus said.

  “Unlikely.”

  “Shut it, Helgi,” Magnus snarled. “You’re not helping.”

  Aros waited, listening for Eostre. When she didn't speak up, panic rose in his chest.

  “Eostre?”

  No reply.

  “Have either of you seen her be go into a cell?”

  "I don't think they locked her away down here," Magnus said, his voice quieting.

  “Maybe she's in another dungeon,” Helgi reasoned. “One where he keeps women.”

  “I’m not sure that’s preferable,” Magnus said. “I’d rather she were kept with us so that we could keep an eye on her.”

  Helgi slammed his fist into the bars. “We were supposed to look after her. A pretty girl, defenseless.”

  Aros squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think of what could happen to her.

  He gripped the bars, his fists tightening as he clenched his jaw.

  He would not be known as the Wolf who leads women to danger. He would escape. One way or another.

  “Enit,” Aros called, softly into the silence of the dark and stale dungeon. “Eris. I beseech you to protect her.”

  For the first time since he was visited by the gods, he began to wonder what game they played, and if any of the humans, Wolves, dragons, elves, or fae had any chance.

  “The gods can’t here you down here, boy,” a scratchy voice said from the cell across from Aros.

  He gasped and tried to peer ahead into the darkness, and into the cell before him.

  Brown fingers wrapped around the bars across from him, and he stumbled backward, tripping and falling onto his bottom at what he saw emerge from the darkness.

  A creature, made of tree bark and leaves appeared, its slim face lit by two, glowing, yellow eyes.

  “Why the surprise?” it said. “Never seen a dryad before?”

  Aros swallowed, shaking his head.

  Vines and branches were wrapped around its arms and jutted from his shoulders and neck like that of a tree. He was humanoid, with two arms and two legs, a torso that resembled the base of an oak, and a broad chest that stood out from its thin body.

  Aros blinked as butterflies flapped their wings and fluttered around its head.

  A rush of cold washed over his face as an idea finally came to him.

  Perhaps the gods were with him after all.

  13

  Nearly a week passed before the leaders of the dragon tribes arrived. There were three, and they all entered the village of Wregard with large parties of attendants, family, and soldiers.

  Amalia stood before the square at Kylan's side, prepared to welcome them to what was now her new home. She wore a traditional headdress of colorful feathers, jewels, and weaved twigs. Dressed in a white gown with a rich, dark apron and golden brocade and necklaces, she looked like a true dragon empress.

  While the Wregardians had come to accept her, these three men did not seem to be impressed.

  Each was bigger than the other, as Amalia had come to find was the customary dragon stature. Tall, muscle-bound, broad shouldered men with strong jaws, sharp eyes, and long hair.

  They came with their wives, and children, and servants, followed by soldiers. As they filed into the square, her heart began to race and her palms grew sweaty.

  Kylan looked ahead, sure of himself, and confident. She drew on his aura, tilting her head upward in a show of strength.

  "Never let them see you appear weak, or afraid, or intimidated. They will sense your fear, and they will pounce."

  Kylan's words resonated within her head. It reminded her of Uffe and how he trained her in the ways of the warrior Wolves back in Berufell. She's wanted to fit in with the Wolves, and after all of those years of training, it was what saved her in the end.

  That—and the immense power passed down from the Erani line of Mages.

  They were older, perhaps by decades, except for the last arrival who was perhaps in his thirties while the others had to be in their fifties or more.

  "Chief Vorg," Kylan said, smiling as they embraced and greeted one another.

  Vorg seemed to be the oldest, with graying, dark hair, deep-set brown eyes and only one hand. The other was a hook set on the stump where his other hand would have been and fastened with leather straps.

  Amalia did her best not to stare, her eyes meeting his as he gave her a nod and looked her over.

  "Our empress, is it?" he asked, lifting a brow over amused eyes. He smile, revealing brown teeth, before chuckling and stroking his long, gray beard. "If you say so, Chief Kylan. We shall see once she's tested."

  Kylan exchanged a look with Amalia and gave a nod. "Very well."

  He leaned forward, and tilted his head to the side as he looked to Kylan. "You know many dragons have gotten used to the ways of this part of the realm. It will not be easy to get them to uproot their families and lives to venture across hostile territory."

  Amalia lifted a brow. "What hostile territory?"

  Vorg glanced at her. "The Dragon's Pass," he said, simply. "The only way back into Kjos with
out angering the spirits."

  “The only way into Kjos, entirely,” Olaf mumbled, surprising her that he stood so close behind.

  She glanced at Kylan, who looked ahead as the other chiefs stepped forward, and the sky began to darken with yet more storm clouds. She straightened the heavy necklace around her throat. She would be glad to say goodbye to the awful weather of Fjord.

  The other chiefs, Lachlan and Harald, kept their introductions short, never revealing a smile or more than short replies to Kylan. They did stare at Amalia as if she were a foreign creature.

  "Let's head inside," Kylan said, and the large processions filled the main building of the village.

  Amalia breathed in, her nerves tense.

  “Here we go,” she whispered to herself.

  14

  They entered the Great Hall, as Kylan called it.

  Inside, the chiefs sat before Amalia and Kylan on long, short benches made of smooth wood. Their families were shown to rooms within the building where they could refresh themselves and rest after long journeys from different areas of Fjord.

  There were handed ale and wine, and trays of salted pork and pickled vegetables were passed around.

  "Let's get to the reason we are all here," Lachlan said. He was the youngest, with red hair and bright green eyes. Pale, tattooed, and the only one with two wives, he seemed to be impatient.

  "We broke off ages ago to not draw attention to ourselves," he added. "Now, you want us to pack up our things and travel across the Dragon's Pass and who knows where else to return to the desolate land that spit us out? And, for what? A foreigner with no proof she is the heir."

  Kylan nodded, taking in his concerns. "I understand what you're saying, brother. We've all grown comfortable. We've set roots, and raised families right beneath the steps of our enemies. We have an uneasy truth with those enemies. But, Kjos is where we belong. It calls to us. Have you not heard it?"

  Lachlan scoffed, but didn't reply. He drank more ale and one of his wives whispered something to him, while staring at Amalia.

  "We all know what dangers lurk in the Dragon's Pass," Vorg said, and everyone turned to him. "But, we are brothers, and we can defeat anything if we stick together."

  "He's right," Amalia said, speaking up for the first time. Her throat was dry and her face was hot from nervousness, but she knew more than any of them.

  Only she and Kylan had seen what their future could become.

  "We can face whatever awaits together. Let me tell you, Kylan and I have seen what lies beyond those walls. It is a paradise. Whatever desolation drove the dragons and my Mage ancestors away has passed."

  "How do you know this?" Harald asked, lifting a thick, blond brow. “You’re nothing more than a child. A Mage child and an outsider.”

  She looked to him, swallowing. Her cheeks heated at being called a child. She’d seen more and experienced great trials throughout her short life. “Because, we've seen it. Our ancestors revealed themselves to us through dreams.”

  "Nonsense," Harald said, standing. He shook his head, straightening his cloak over his broad shoulders. "I've heard enough. You two children have played us for fools and I'll not have you poisoning the minds of my people."

  Amalia frowned. "Sit back down," she said, her fingers curling into a fist.

  He looked to her, utterly stunned. His lips parted as if he were about to say something, but instead, his eyes widened as she tilted her head and nodded to his seat.

  Everyone quieted, staring at her in disbelief.

  The child had spoken.

  It wasn't a question. She knew what she must look like. A little girl with pretty jewels and a fresh face. They had no idea what she'd been through.

  She'd show them.

  Amalia stood, and with a ring of steel, she swung her ax upward, pointing it at the ceiling. With a breath in, and a clenching of her fist, the steel began to glow.

  "Enough of this sorcery," Harald said, but his eyes showed a curiosity that Amalia didn't miss.

  "How does this show she's nothing but another Mage?" Lachlan asked, shaking his head.

  Amalia closed her eyes, and by summoning her rune spirits, she did something that elicited a cry of surprise from those assembled.

  She spoke in the ancient tongue of the dragons. Kjoshi fell from her lips as if she'd been born and raised with that as her first and only language.

  Even Kylan turned to her with a stunned look in his eyes.

  It was a feral language. One that wasn't taught to outsiders, and hadn't been uttered around anyone but of the dragon race. And, Amalia spoke it will full fluency, reciting the history of their people, and the bond her ancestors had with the dragons, and how they built something the world had never seen before.

  A paradise destroyed by The Brotherhood—one torn apart by a vengeful god—one they could restore to its former glory.

  They bowed to her then, as her body glowed, her ax shimmered with magic, and her lips promised them victory.

  She promised them glory, and there were no more questions. From the Kjoshi she spoke, she ignited a feral thirst within the dragons, and reminded them of their true purpose.

  Her eyes opened, a euphoria surging her entire body.

  There was only awe in the expressions of those before her, and tears.

  The Erani Heir had truly returned.

  15

  Wind blew her hair around her face as she met Jora at the base of the mountain. She pulled her fur-lined cloak tighter around her throat and around her shoulders, wishing she could simply return to the warmth of her room.

  Jora smiled at her as she approached and ushered for her to hurry and ascend the many, tiny steps leading to her. Once Amalia made her way to the top, she was out of breath and chilled nearly to the bone. Her lips and eyes were dry, and cheeks tight from the cold.

  "I'm here," Amalia said, fighting the urge to fall to her knees and catch her breath.

  Jora chuckled. "Nearly fifty years older than you, my dear, and those stairs were little more than a skip across a puddle."

  Amalia shrugged, then coughed. "Very funny," she said, and that only made Jora laugh even louder.

  Then, she picked up her staff and reached for Amalia's hand with the other. "Come, dear, I have something I want to show you."

  Amalia nodded, and glanced back the way she'd come. She'd flown on the back of a dragon, and that long descent down still gave her chills. Jora led her into the mouth of the mountain through a narrow cave. Their boots echoed and the faint dripping of water trickled from within.

  At least they were safe from the chilly wind, and Amalia was grateful for that. She was able to lower her hood the deeper they went in.

  Light came from Jora's rune spirit, which hovered at her right side and cast a faint, orange glow.

  "My mother used to always tell me about the creatures that dwelled in the Dragon's Pass. I want to prepare you for what you will face."

  "Yes," Amalia said, as Jora led her to a large cavern that was brightly lit with glowing rocks and crystals that jutted from the ceilings and wall. "We have to be prepared for anything. I'm glad that you'll be by our side."

  "Of course," Jora said. "I've been waiting for this moment my entire life. Returning to Kjos will bring us all back to our former glory. Take a seat."

  Together, they sat in the center of the cavern, in a pit, and Jora set her staff in between them. It stood upright, and as Jora rubbed her hands together and placed them on her knees as she crossed them beneath her, a shimmering veil extended over them like a dome.

  "We are in a protected space," Jora said, closing her eyes. "Just relax while I tap in and call the spirits to guide us."

  A chill ran up Amalia's spine at the mention of the spirits. She licked her lips and sat up straighter. Perhaps her parents would appear. She'd give anything to speak to them one last time.

  Memories of her father saving her life haunted her. He'd finally shown his power to her after keeping them a secret her entire lif
e. And, what a gift he had. Her skin began to tingle and all went silent as fog rose from the smooth surface of the cavern and filled the veil.

  "I evoke the spirit to guide us," Jora said, her voice soft and fluid, like a scarf of silk.

  Amalia watched in awe as the fog took the shape of a woman. Her heart thumped in her chest so loudly that she feared Jora could hear it.

  The wiry figure stood tall, and outstretched its arms as the fog flowed down its body and created a billowing cloak.

  "Jora," it hissed, the sound of its voice a disembodied echo of several voices. "Daughter of Freya. Granddaughter of Sensa. Speak your request."

  Jora's eyes opened and she looked to Amalia. "I have the Erani heir with me today, ancestor. Show her the way through the Dragon's Pass. Guide her in her quest. Protect us from those who would harm us."

  The spirit swayed and spun around to face Amalia. Before she could react, the fog smothered her and she fell back, seeing only darkness. The fog seeped into her mouth and nose, and ears, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe.

  Then, bright, red light shone before her eyes. With the spirit holding her hand, she was guided through a wide valley between two massive, red mountains. Dragons stood on either end, watching her with glowing eyes.

  "Follow the trail set forth by your ancestors," the voice said. "Pay homage to those who came before you. Take nothing you see. It is not a gift. It is a trap. Defeat the beast who guards the gate, and you will capture his rune spirits and obtain the power to ignite the key."

  Amalia nodded, taking it all in, watching as the dragons extended their wings and began to roar toward the end of the pass. Standing there was a creature who filled her heart with cold, terror.

  It was a dragon, but several times the size of any she'd seen. No, this wasn't a shifter at all. It was a full-blooded beast with a serpent's head, sharp talons the size of her body, and large, yellow eyes that glared at her as smoke wafted from its nostrils.