“That can be arranged,” Thora said quietly. “Provided that we get back to Skala quickly.”
“Who do I have to kill to get a ship named after me?” Ostryg asked. “I’ll do it.”
“Do you like your new name, Rjupa?” Skeggi asked her.
Now she smiled. “I do. And,” she added, “I might use it from this day forward. I don’t want my old name. I want to leave what happened to me behind. I just want to be able to say my old name. The girl who endured all that deserves to be honored. All of those girls deserve that.”
“We have a good swordmaster and magician in Skala,” Skeggi said. “She can get rid of that enchantment for you.”
Their eyes met. Just for a moment. But his heart warmed.
“Rjupa,” he said, just to say her name.
Ostryg groaned. “Ugh. Why don’t you just kiss her and get it over with?”
Skeggi laughed. “Nobody asked your opinion!” He started pounding on Ostryg with both hands, a move he learned from his brothers. Rjupa joined in, kicking his ankles.
“Stop trying to kill me!” Then Ostryg fell over.
“Ankle kicks,” Gefjun said thoughtfully. “I’ll try that the next time he annoys me.”
A scream split the air from behind them.
Everyone jumped, and the girl grunted with a spasmodic jerk, spinning to look behind.
“You killed him! You killed him!” the person screamed—a woman’s voice. “You killed Iron Skull!”
“Ugh, seriously?” Ostryg grunted as Skeggi quickly pulled him to his feet.
“When you leave a dead body in the woods, somebody just has to go and find it,” Skeggi grumbled.
Dyrfinna rushed into the forest behind them with her sword out—as she did. There was a scuffle, and in moments she was dragging back an unconscious young woman about their age, in a brown Dane’s cloak and a bleeding knot on her head.
“Go,” said Dyrfinna, sheathing her sword and hoisting the Dane over her shoulders. “We’re nearly to the city and if we go a little faster, we can make it.”
New fear gave them wings and they ran along for a while, Dyrfinna puffing under the weight of her captive.
“Why are you bringing her?” Ostryg said. “She’ll start screaming as soon as she wakes up.”
“I thought we’d lost her, but I guess we hadn’t. She’s been following us for a while,” Dyrfinna said. “Obviously a spy. Do you know this sack of dung?” she asked Rjupa.
“No,” she replied. “She might have come in on another ship. But I’m sure Iron Skull had his share of adoring women.”
Gefjun pretended to throw up.
The smoke from the city was getting closer. “We’re about a mile outside of Skala,” Skeggi said. “We should be meeting our patrols pretty soon.”
“Unless the patrols are all dedicated to the fighting inside the walls,” Thora reminded him.
“Can we give this girl over to your guard?” Dyrfinna asked. “I’m sure we’ll have some information from her—ack!”
Because the spy who had been dangling over Dyrfinna’s shoulders, arms down, had suddenly jerked up and jammed an elbow into the soft flesh at the top of her throat directly under her jaw.
Dyrfinna flung herself backwards, falling flat on her back on top of the spy. The struggle was brief and intense, but suddenly Dyrfinna came up with a dagger sticking out of her shoulder and the spy was running away.
Dyrfinna swore. “How did that bitch get loose? I tied her up like a chicken!”
“Don’t take it out,” Gefjun cried as Dyrfinna reached for the dagger. “Get back to Skala where I have bandages and clotting material! You’ll spray out a quarter of your life’s blood if you take that thing out.”
“Pff, I’m wearing two armored shirts,” Dyrfinna said, yanking it out. “The point of the blade got stopped by a metal ring before it got to me. It’s just a scratch.”
A loud shriek came from behind. “Here! Here! Here are the people who killed Iron Skull! And the Queen is with them!”
“Odin’s tears, I’m going to kill every one of those damn Danes,” Dyrfinna groaned as they plunged ahead once more.
19
Corae
Skeggi was almost too worn out to keep his feet, and Gefjun was clearly suffering at the pace, though Thora still looked fresh. Rjupa was driven forward by terror.
“All his friends are in that gang, I’m sure of it,” Rjupa said. “And if they get a hold of me ….”
“Then we’ll kill them,” Dyrfinna growled.
“Is the Queen really one of you?” asked Rjupa.
“It’s me,” Skeggi said. “I’m the queen.”
“Are you insane?”
“No, he’s a really handsome queen,” Ostryg said, and Skeggi sashayed a little.
Even when they were running for their lives, he sashayed.
I’m out of my head, he thought.
“Stop that. We don’t know how close the Danes are,” Gefjun reminded them.
“Here!” a woman’s voice cried from behind them. “Here they are, here!”
“Well, now we do,” Dyrfinna said, looking over her shoulder.
Because out of the thick forest behind them came yodeling and yelling, and here came a burly group of Danes, swords upraised.
This whole army was led by a very jubilant spy, who shrieked a battle cry and pointed a sword at the little group. “These are the people who killed Iron Skull!” she yelled in a ringing voice.
Behind the spy, the Danes started gathering … and gathering … and gathering, more and more of them.
All of the Danes were screaming for revenge for their dead leader. Some of them saw Rjupa wearing Iron Skull’s helmet and began shouting for her blood.
“Since I did not wish to die,” Skeggi began, doing his best to pour on some speed and run faster, despite his wounded leg. But it wasn’t enough. Because now the spy shouted, “Forward!” And now the Danes were screaming, whooping, pushing through the thick woods, pursuing the small group of sword-friends and getting closer and closer.
An arrow cracked into a tree near Skeggi’s head. Then another. One zinged past Skeggi. Several idiots were shooting arrows while they were running, hoping to make a lucky hit.
The ragged, wild band came running after them with axes, swords, and spears. Some of them laughed, running unsteadily through the tall grass, for now the forest had opened up into a field.
A deer sprang out of the woods ahead of the screams, springing high over the grass as it leaped away, its tail flashing white. It outran the sword-friends, who were now stumbling with exhaustion. Skeggi’s leg burned with a white-hot pain with every step.
Skeggi heard the roaring of a fire, and black grains drifted overhead on the wind, which blew hot gusts of air toward them. Had the Dane set fire to the woods? Or was the city burning? His senses were too confused for him to tell.
“Stop running, you babies,” shrilled the spy from behind them. “Come face us. If you keep running, we’re going to bury our axes in your backs.”
“Stop,” Thora panted, her steps slowing as she turned toward the oncoming attackers. “Form up around me and prepare to defend yourselves. I’m going to sing against them.”
“Stand to the sides, not directly in front of her,” Dyrfinna warned, pulling her sword. “If you want to live, that is.”
Thora hit a high note and brought her hands around in a circle and up. Blue light filled them.
The attackers still came running, but now the two people with bows stopped and drew a bead on Thora.
She sang out, and flung her open hands directly at them. A blue fireball sizzled through the air and struck their attackers dead center, sending them flying back with agonized screams.
At once the attackers hit the ground.
All except for the spy.
“You see? It’s the queen!” Howling, she ran at Thora, axe upraised. The rest of the crew scrambled up and followed her with a huge roar.
“No, it’s not th
e queen,” Skeggi muttered, not that it made a bit of difference, and put up his sword to defend her.
The queen’s daughter raised her hands again and flung another blue bolt, but it knocked down only one of the Danes—the rest kept coming.
Suddenly, a roar came from above. A chain-mail rattle and screech.
Skeggi turned.
A red dragon with wings wide in flight came sailing in overhead, a rider sitting on her back.
“It’s one of our dragons!” Skeggi called. “It’s Corae!”
Gefjun whooped. “Corae! Over here! Come on, sweetie!”
Corae came roaring in, the blasts of hot air from her wings sending all the trees and grass into a frenzy, as if a thunderstorm sent by Thor himself had arrived. Skeggi whooped and ran straight at the cowering Danes. He felt suddenly invulnerable, with a dragon at his back.
Skeggi crashed into a Dane fighter and started chopping away until a single stroke of the Dane’s sword nearly took off his arm. And suddenly Dyrfinna was there, fighting the Dane back from Skeggi.
A little embarrassed by being saved by Dyrfinna yet again, Skeggi fell in with Ostryg, each of them watching the others’ back, but there were so many Danes. When one fell, two came up to take their place.
But Corae touched down lightly behind Skeggi, and Skeggi could feel the heat coming off Corae, as if a gigantic, friendly bonfire had suddenly materialized behind him.
The Danes fell back. “We want revenge!” they shouted. “We will have our revenge!”
Corae opened her mouth, her great teeth glimmering in the light of her internal fires.
“Come and get your revenge, then,” Skeggi said to the Danes.
Fire billowed out over the Danes. Screaming, intense heat. Blazes. People on fire screamed and crashed to the ground.
Somebody was singing song-magic against the dragon, to no effect.
“Arrows! Arrows!” some of the Danes shouted.
“Get behind Corae, quickly!” Dyrfinna said.
“All of you, get back to Skala!” Hildgunnr said from atop her dragon. Their swordmaster wore a shining chain-mail shirt over her leather shirt and looked very impressive in battle gear. Corae spit flames on the Danes. The red dragon beat her wings to fan the flames and send them blazing into the enemies. Hildgunnr cried, “Get back to Skala now! We’re here to cover you.”
Arrows came zinging past, snapping and tearing through the leaves overhead like a deadly rain.
Skeggi grabbed Rjupa. “Run!” he said, and shielded her with his body as another burst of arrows flew in.
Danes were yelling, “Get her! Kill her! She stole Iron Skull’s helmet.”
“Steal?” Rjupa’s eyes flashed, and she turned and addressed them. “I did not steal his helmet,” she shouted back at the enemies. “I killed Iron Skull. I killed him myself. That is my dagger in his chest. I have earned this rich battle prize myself.”
Skeggi saw the Danes tense up, eyes wide, as Rjupa spoke. When she was finished, their mouths opened as one, cords standing out on their necks, and they bellowed like bulls. Every archer loaded their bows, and every swordsman and spearsman lowered their weapons at Rjupa.
All of the Danes were shouting different things at once, but the gist of what they were saying was clear.
And then they all ran at her.
“I really wish you hadn’t explained yourself,” Skeggi said. “Quick, quick, quick.” He grabbed Rjupa and hauled her bodily behind Corae, just as what sounded like a hundred arrows screamed through the air around them.
And Corae, who stood between them and the arrows, screamed.
Over the shouts of the oncoming Danes, their battle cries high and shrill, the red dragon’s scream rang out, and she flung her wings wide.
Skeggi, who had never heard Corae scream, felt his knees go liquid. “What was that? What happened to her?”
“They hit her with an arrow!” Hildigunnr cried, sounding just as astonished as he was.
Skeggi couldn’t believe it. Arrows usually bounced off the gemlike scales of the dragons. One must have gotten in between the overlapping layers of the scales.
Now a new roar, as when an attacker is on the hunt for prey and sees victory. And a furious screaming, a roar for revenge, as the Danes rushed at them.
Corae lit the world on fire, roaring in pain. Skeggi glimpsed the arrow sticking out of the side of her face as he ran with Rjupa, keeping the dragon between her and the full might of the Danes.
“Get the girl who killed Iron Skull!” somebody yelled.
“Kill the queen who is with her!” somebody else shouted.
Skeggi looked at the little group of sword friends, along with Rjupa and Thora, who huddled behind Corae.
“Run for the city,” Hildgunnr told them in her calm voice. “We’ll stay here and hold off any attackers.”
A spurt of blood from her neck. She reflexively flung a hand up.
Then Hildgunnr slumped over on her dragon’s seat, dead from an arrow that pierced her neck through.
“No!” cried Skeggi, his voice lost in a chorus of pain from the rest of his friends.
But Dyrfinna said, “Go!” in the next breath, chivvying them away from the dragon. “Those were her last wishes. So carry them out, now!”
Corae screamed again, and more arrows had pierced her. Blind with pain, she sprayed fire at everything.
“Corae, fly! Get out of there!” Skeggi shouted. “You don’t have to do this! Please!”
“She won’t,” Dyrfinna said, tears running down her face as she dragged her friends toward the city. “She won’t fly. There’s too many Danes for us to fight. Corae’s going to guard us from the Danes until she dies, because she loves us so.” Her voice broke. “So if she’s going to sacrifice herself for us, let’s run!”
They ran, all of them crying.
“Couldn’t Corae just pick up Thora and carry her to the city?” Skeggi cried.
“No. I’m not going anywhere without the rest of you,” the queen’s daughter said fiercely. “She can’t carry all of us, and I am not leaving all the rest of you to be killed by Danes when we’re this close to safety.”
Corae roared with pain again. Another arrow had found her. She threw fire down at the Danes. Her serpentine tail struck and flung to bits any Danes that tried to sneak around her. Fire billowed and blazed from before her, silhouetting Corae’s wings and Hildgunnr’s still form on her back. When Corae’s wings opened, fire gleamed through the holes that had been punched through the wings with arrows.
Arrows rattled against her jeweled hide, but another found a mark somewhere between her scales, and Corae grunted. Then another, and she cried out again.
“No,” cried Skeggi as he ran. “Please fly away.”
Skeggi and the rest of the sword friends wept as they ran. Smoke, sitting on his shoulder, her head swiveled back, made a sad low moan next to his ear. Skeggi thought of all the times they’d challenged each other, the tiny owl and the great dragon, and then he couldn’t stop crying. For all those times, for all their friendships.
They were near the city gates when Corae gave one last cry and collapsed, the world in flames behind her. But she had stopped the Danes. She had stopped them.
On Skeggi’s shoulder, Smoke gave a sad cry and retreated under Skeggi’s hair. The friends put their arms around each other, weeping, looking back at their fallen friends. They’d given their lives to get them back home.
From on the other side of Corae’s body, the Danes cheered—but it was a weak cheer. Only a small percentage of that huge force remained. Somebody—it sounded like that damndable spy—was trying to rally those remaining forces, but Skeggi couldn’t see much movement beyond that of the burning field. His vision was blurry, and when he dashed the tears from his eyes, more gathered there.
The Dane attack was over. For good.
“Who’s a good dragon?” he asked Corae, his voice catching. “You are. You are.”
20
Back Home Again
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br /> Here they were at the city walls. And here was the gate to town, and Vikarr was standing here at the small side gate guarding it with his life.
Skeggi had spoken to Vikarr that morning—it seemed like an age ago. “Let us in,” he said, exhausted.
“I’ll let you in, but who’s this girl?” his friend said. “I can’t let her in. What’s with that helmet?”
“She killed Iron Skull. Killed him dead.”
Vikarr frowned. “Iron Skull? Who’s that?”
Skeggi shook his head, too exhausted and brokenhearted to argue. “Look, we just came through half a million battles out here with Danes, and Corae just … she just … Oh, just let us the hell in, would you?”
The watchman sighed. “Skeggi, you can’t just bring in every single stray that wanders around these walls, especially when there’s an invasion on. You don’t even know if she’s an invader, do you?”
Skeggi groaned. “Why are you fighting me about this? She killed Iron Skull. Look at that damn helmet. I assure you, she did not just pick that up someplace.”
“Skeggi, get your butt in here,” said his friend, flat. “The thrallgirls aren’t worth it.”
“Did you just call her a thrallgirl?” Skeggi said, advancing on him. “Did you seriously just call her a thrallgirl?”
Rjupa barked with laughter.
Thora finally caught up. “Is Vikarr holding you up again?” she demanded, her blonde, braided hair, now half-unraveled, shining like a nimbus around her head.
Vikarr was on his feet, helmet in hand. “Your majesty? Is that you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m being rescued by these five gallant soldiers, including this girl, whose name is Rjupa, by the way,” Thora said, opening a hand at her. “And she wears Iron Skull’s helmet because she killed him. Now let us in now, or you and I will have to have a one-on-one discussion in one of my dungeons.”
Vikarr’s mouth tightened, and he looked at the rest of the swordfriends, who now came staggering up, burned, wounded, haggard. The shouting of a few Danes came faintly from behind them—but not many.
A Whisper of Smoke Page 11
