He said, “Your majesty, I hear and obey.”
He opened the heavy oaken door, and they all trooped in, but Skeggi did not breathe a sigh of relief until the door had swung shut and Vikarr swung the heavy bolt home to secure it.
Back home. They were safe at last.
Skeggi sagged against a wall, half wanting to simply go someplace quiet and cry his eyes out for poor Corae. But he couldn’t.
“I need to go find my brothers,” Skeggi said.
The fighting in the streets was dying down by now—Vikarr had been wrong about everybody being required to fight, as that particular bit of news had been old by the time he’d received it. And so Skeggi moved though the crowd with his friends, looking for his brothers.
“I used to have relatives in this town,” Rjupa said out of the blue as she gazed over the faces of the people. Many of them turned, shocked, to see a girl going past wearing Iron Skull’s helmet.
“Who are they?” Skeggi asked. “Skala is kind of a small place. We probably know them.”
Rjupa’s eyes got wide. “Does Maeva live in this city?”
Ostryg turned around, eyebrows up.
“Yeah, Ostryg’s mom has that name,” said Skeggi, baffled. “I don’t think anybody else does.”
“How do you know my mom?” Ostryg asked.
Then Rjupa’s eyes got even wider. “My mother’s name was Gillaug. Her sister’s name was Maeva.”
“No way. You’re making that up,” Ostryg said, gobsmacked.
“I’m not making it up. Maeva got married to some red-headed man and left for Skala.”
“There’s no way,” Ostryg said, putting both hands on his head. “No way!”
“Ostryg’s mom has a sister?” Skeggi asked.
“Had,” Rjupa said sadly. “I’m the only one of my family who survived.”
“Okay,” Ostryg said. “If you’re not screwing with me, then what’s the name of your mother’s parents?”
“My mother’s mother’s name was Eilif. My mother’s father’s name was Vigi.”
Ostryg’s mouth dropped open. “Holy crap! I have a cousin!”
“What!”
They embraced, laughing. “Come on,” Ostryg said. You gotta meet my mom. She’s just going to crap herself when she finds out she has a niece!”
“Don’t introduce Rjupa to your dad, though,” Skeggi said.
“Oh, no. I’ll keep her as far away as possible. My mom’s all right, though. You’ll like her,” Ostryg said.
“Don’t let anything happen to Rjupa,” Skeggi said. “All right?”
“Cripes! I won’t. She’ll be fine.”
“Swear,” Skeggi said.
Ostryg groaned. “No! I’m not going to pledge anything, you dork. I’m just a mere mortal, not like you damn poets. Always swearing eternal fealty to this or that.”
Skeggi just sighed loudly.
Rjupa smiled, her eyes twinkling. Skeggi’s knees got weak at that smile, for some reason.
“I’ll be fine,” Rjupa said. “Go, now. Find your brothers. Let’s talk to each other later, though. Okay?”
“What are you going to do, though, now that you’re here?” Skeggi asked. “We need to find a place for you to live.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Thora said from behind Skeggi, surprising him.
Rjupa looked startled. “You will?”
“Rjupa, for your service to Skala, we can give you a room in the castle and a small stipend to live upon. If you want to stay in Skala, we’d be happy to have you.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” Rjupa admitted.
“You’ve killed Iron Skull and helped to rescue me,” said Thora. “All of you have. I’ll be giving each of you a reward for your work here today. Especially since some of you are raising a small army of brothers,” she added to Skeggi.
They set off through the streets toward the queen’s keep. No houses in this part of town were on fire. A couple of the queen’s defenders were coming up from the fires at the bottom of the mountain near the ocean.
“Is all well in Skala?” Thora asked.
“Your majesty!” one of the swordwomen said. “Yes, the trouble was concentrated at the lower part of town. But we’re just finishing up with getting the Danes out of town. Now we’ve gone to putting out fires and finding home and shelters for those who are now homeless.”
Thora nodded and bowed to them and let them run on. With a sigh she turned to the sword-friends. “I have a little work to do now. Thank you for bringing me back to safety.”
They ran up to the keep, and the guards, seeing Thora, let her in right away. And at last they were all in.
Skeggi found his brothers and gathered them all around. “Oh, it’s so good to see you barbarians,” he said, putting his arms around them, and all their little arms hugged him back. It was the best feeling in the world.
Rjupa said, “I’ll see you later.”
And then she blew him a kiss.
Skeggi caught it in one hand, his face going red.
Immediately all his brothers started yelling, “Omm! Skeggi has a girlfriend!”
Dyrfinna frowned.
But then she rolled her eyes.
“Good luck with that,” she said amiably over her shoulder as she went home.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
Skeggi sighed, thinking of all the things he had to do once he returned home. He had a door to fix, and he had to clean up all the wreckage in the house that the Danes had wrought. However, his fingers were full of rings, and his arms were full of little brothers. He’d have to work hard to get everything back in order, but even so, he was going to be all right. They would all be all right.
Just then, as he started walking down the street, the neighbor that had been watching over his brothers caught up to him. “Just wanted you to know that we’ve re-hung your door,” he said. “It’s as good as new. And,” he added, “you boys don’t have to worry about supper, because somebody is at home fixing it for you.”
Skeggi’s stomach grumbled. He was starving. But yet he said, “That’s very kind, but they didn’t have to go to all that trouble for us.”
“Oh, yes he did,” said the neighbor, lifting his eyebrow. “It’s your brother Ragnarr. He went out and caught some fish, and he’s made some bread. We helped him clean up the house. And … we had a little talk.”
Skeggi grinned, though he was exhausted. “Oh, did you?”
His neighbor clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve done may great things for us today,” he said. “It was the least we could do.”
Smoke flew to him and landed on his shoulder. She raised up on her tiptoes and beat her wings as if to celebrate a victory.
Through the haze of smoke that hung over the city, Skeggi could look out across the ocean and see the sun setting in a blaze of orange.
“It’s been a long day, guys,” he said, giving his brothers another squeeze. “Let’s go home.”
The End
If you want to read more of the adventures of Dyrfinna, Skeggi, Rjupa, Gefjun, and Ostryg—and I hope you do—pounce on the Dragonriders of Skala series.
Keep reading for the first chapter from THE FLAME OF BATTLE, the first book in the series, when the swordfriends are a year or two older.
In the flame of battle, even the innocent get burned…
Dyrfinna is a born commander. She bests her peers in dragon riding, sword fighting, and battle strategy. So when the Queen calls the people of Skala to battle to revenge her murdered daughter, Dyrfinna outfits a ship and brings a crew.
Once in the field, Dyrfinna leads her troops to victory in a series of hard-fought battles against overwhelming odds. Yet a commander is raised over her, and because of his clumsy leadership, a great disaster results in the massacre of a quarter of the Queen’s army. Then the commander unfairly blames a second disaster on Dyrfinna. The wrong stroke of her sword could undo everything she’s ever worked for, earn her the fury of her friends ... and exile to cert
ain death.
But you can't keep a true warrior down. When things are darkest, a flame rises out of the desolation.
Chapter 1 of The Flame of Battle
Dyrfinna and Aesa were out in the field that morning to hoe—though, to be closer to the truth, only Dyrfinna was tilling the fine soil with her hoe. Little Aesa chopped at it for a little while, trying to be a big girl like Dyrfinna. Then she would tire and pretend she was a puppy. She was only five years old and a little goosy. She romped around the broken clods of soil, yipping and barking, and then she’d come back and put her hands on Dyrfinna’s side, panting up at her and smiling.
“Are you my little puppy? Who’s my little puppy?” Dyrfinna asked, giving Aesa-puppy a one-armed hug. “Puppy, puppy, look at these stones! We’re growing a big crop of stones. Can you help me dig them up?”
Dyrfinna’s hoe struck sparks on a stone the soil had heaved up. Every winter, the soil shrugged up a new crop of stones, slowing down the spring tilling and planting.
Aesa-puppy barked and started digging around the rock with her little hands, but then changed her mind and picked up her hoe and used that to dig. Dyrfinna joined her, scooping the soil out around the smooth, round boulder—the bones of the rugged land. Dyrfinna handled each one with care, as she considered them sacred objects in a sense, even though they were a terrible annoyance.
Dyrfinna straightened from her hoeing and rolled her neck, looking across the small Viking city of Skala toward the great mountains of the fjords and the endless ocean. The smell of wood smoke from many chimneys came to her, the quiet conversations of many people in the streets, the complaints of the sheep on the hills, and the music of a hammer striking iron in the forge—all the sounds of home came to her at the height of the field on the hill. The great black ships stood in the harbor, the masts of their fleet standing side-by-side with a trader from the Balkans, several Moorish ships from Iberia, and a number of Viking ships from places like Oslo, Hedeby, and Birka.
She wanted to get the hoeing done before midday, for she had the usual chores to attend to at home, and she also had to get those out of the way so she could take Grandma for her walk, which was to keep her hands and legs from twisting more. But also Grandma told the best stories and Dyrfinna loved being with her. Then if everything was finished, she could do a little fishing and squeeze in a little sword-work with her battle-friends. They liked to practice combat on the long cliffs over the sea when they could, and they were all going to gather late in the afternoon and bring in supper. They would fight and eat, though not at the same time.
Suddenly Aesa drew in a sharp breath. “Sissy….”
Dyrfinna jerked her head up from the boulder she’d just dislodged. Her breath stopped in her throat.
From out of the tall winter grasses at field’s edge came a wolf, his yellow eyes full on them. Aesa started to whimper.
When Dyrfinna was her age, she’d seen a pack of wolves take down one of their horses, her favorite horse, and Mama had snatched her up and run hard for the house while Papa had run at our side—backwards—while slamming home arrow after arrow from his bow at the wolves. Afterward, three of their bodies littered the field with arrows sticking out of them. But it did not save her poor horse. She had nightmares about that for moons.
Dyrfinna bit back a curse. She wouldn’t have been alone in the field in the first place, had she waited for someone to help. Her hand rested on the hilt of the only thing that could protect them. But she’d have to wait for the wolf to come right up to her little sister in order to use that sword.
“Grab hold of my leg,” Dyrfinna commanded. “Do it!”
Aesa’s little shaking arms went around Dyrfinna’s left leg.
“Sissy…” Aesa said again, and her little face crumpled. Her shaking arms loosened. She started to sob against Dyrfinna’s leg.
The wolf’s intense stare never wavered. It took one slow step toward them. Then two.
Dyrfinna would have to move quickly. She had to pick up her sis, and she’d need to stoop to do it, and the wolf would likely rush them when she was on his level. At least he was alone, for a wolf with a pack would be calling to them. But a lone wolf was usually more desperate – hungrier.
With her foot, Dyrfinna touched two of the stones she’d dug up, and pulled them close together so she could easily grab them when she picked up her sister.
“Aesa,” she said. “On the count of three, I’m going to stoop down and pick you up. If I have to fight this stupid wolf, I need you to hold me as tight as you can. Tight. Like a barnacle. Do you understand?”
Aesa was still crying, but she nodded. Dyrfinna pulled her sword up a little from the scabbard so it would slide out in one smooth motion when she needed it.
Her heart pounded hard against her chest. This whole time, her eyes had been fixed on the wolf’s, except for a brief moment when they’d flickered to the stones and flickered to Aesa. Her little sister.
Well. Now Aesa was going to see how her big sister, who loved her more than anything else in the world, could fight.
“When I pick you up, I’m going to scream like nothing you’ve ever heard,” she told her sister. “Hold on tighter when I do.”
The wolf moved in a step. That bastard.
“Count to three with me,” Dyrfinna told her. “Then you scream when I scream. Okay?”
Her left hand was around her little shoulders. She felt Aesa nod.
Dyrfinna made her heart iron.
That wolf was not going to get her little sis.
That wolf was going to die right now.
“One.” She placed her feet into a solid stance, both for fighting and for picking up a three and a half stone girl.
“Two.” Aesa’s little trembling voice echoed hers.
Dyrfinna breathed in deep, let it out, let power uncoil through her, just as she’d been taught for so many years.
“THREE.”
Dyrfinna stooped, pulled Aesa tight against her body with her left arm, grabbed the two stones with her right hand, and pushed back to her feet with Aesa’s full weight against her left side. I’m going to have to compensate for that when I’m fighting.
The wolf came, loping toward them across the edge of the field.
A battle-cry shrilled from her lips, a scream like the eagles thrilling after their prey, and Aesa’s little voice joined hers, though she tucked her head tight against Dyrfinna’s shoulder. Her little arms wrapped around Dyrfinna’s chest, and her little legs gripped Dyrfinna’s belly. A rage Dyrfinna had never felt before rushed up from her feet and through her whole body, and she screamed again and launched the first stone hard at the wolf.
It struck him in the side of his head but he shook it off and kept coming, teeth showing.
She flung the second stone, striking him full in the face again. As soon as the stone left her hand Dyrfinna drew her sword from under her sister’s bottom. Thank Freyja, Aesa’s feet were wound around Dyrfinna’s middle and out of the way of her scabbard. The sword her father made for her rang in her hands. The runic inscription NONE SHALL GET THROUGH ME flashed in the sunlight straight down the blade.
And this giant wolf, all teeth and muscle, ran straight for them
and Dyrfinna shrilled again for all she was worth
and everything turned red, red, red,
and the terrible shock as her sword struck against the wolf’s neck
so much red.
And the wolf’s body struck Dyrfinna’s. She staggered backwards and drew the sword up hard, as if pulling it out of a scabbard across the wolf’s chest.
The wolf’s breath puffed into her face.
Dyrfinna shoved it.
A confused struggle, hard pain in her right arm.
Her sword drove her hand where it needed to go.
The wolf danced around her feet, lunging. Her sword cut at it.
The fight became a blood fog as her mind blanked. She broke loose from herself.
Like a berserker.
Suddenly Dyrfinna realized Aesa was yelling “Stop, stop, stop, stop!” into her neck.
Dyrfinna returned to herself, though she still saw through a scrim of red.
The wolf had crawled a short distance away and was bleeding out its life on her field, the hungry soil drinking its blood.
Aesa still held tight to her neck.
And Dyrfinna realized she was still screaming.
She stopped. Her sword and arm were bright red with blood, as if she’d slaughtered a hog.
She dropped her sword and put Aesa on the ground. Dyrfinna sank to her knees, and the sisters held each other tight. They cried hard for a minute, and the red rage fled Dyrfinna’s body, leaving her shaken.
Then Dyrfinna let her sister go, stood, and took a deep breath, looking back at the carcass of her enemy. That enormous wolf’s body, lying crumpled on the earth, now looked as sad and forlorn as any dead dog.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from her screams. “You fought bravely, and I understand how hunger drives you. But one of us had to die, and it was not going to be my little sister.”
She refused to lose another sister.
Shouts came from behind them as the villagers came running, having heard the battle screams. Gefjun, Dyrfinna’s closest friend, healer and swordswoman, ran swiftly at the front, thank Freyja. Behind her came her sword-friends: grumbling Ostryg, then Skeggi, whose dark brown eyes always smote her heart. More men and women of the village followed.
Skeggi’s eyes met hers from across that great distance, and Dyrfinna’s heart—which continued pounding hard—skipped an extra beat.
Gefjun cried, “Dyrfinna! Your arm!”
Dyrfinna blinked and looked stupidly at the shredded meat of her upper arm. Her mind struggled to connect what she saw with the burning pain she felt there.
“How’d that happen,” she mumbled, realizing that a lot of the blood on her arm was actually her own. “That is an awful lot of blood to lose.”
A hissing mist descended over her eyes and body. She stumbled, but fought to keep her feet.
A Whisper of Smoke Page 12
