In the long-ago days, dragons used to be smaller. Then, some people began to tame and raise dragons. They searched the world to find fair dragons, and bred the dragons like horses. They began to breed dragons to be docile and obedient, and bred them to carry riders and spit fire in war. Dragons grew long and lean and powerful, and they were raised by royalty, since only the most wealthy could feed and properly house them. Only recently, the monasteries started to keep a few dragons to protect themselves against those who would raid them for their money.
King Varinn’s dragon stables were immense. Dyrfinna had been in the dragon stables at Skala, but here, these stables had high roofs, wide stalls, and low doors that latched with chains. And these stables had cats everywhere, sitting on gates and walls. One came around a corner and saw her and froze, then slinked back to watch her from a distance. Dyrfinna sneezed as a cat twined its way around her ankles. “Knock it off,” she said, moving it aside with her foot. The cat simply followed her, determined to become her friend. Aesa stopped and patted it gingerly on the head, and its tail came up.
The emberdragons had been mostly killed off, replaced by kept dragons. But these dragons were seldom able to breed, for some reason. The wild ones still could. Personally, she wondered if they’d somehow managed to create a race of hybrid dragons. She knew that when you mated a horse and a donkey, you’d get a mule, which wasn’t fertile. Perhaps the same thing had happened to the dragons.
But Nauma didn’t want to find a way to breed new dragons. She simply wanted to raise an army of dragons from their eternal hallowed sleep on the mountaintop to ravage and curse an entire world.
Dyrfinna turned a corner. There before her was an old dragon sitting in front of one of the stalls. The dragon, though still black, was more faded than the younger dragons, and it was smaller than the other dragons she’d seen, as if it had shrunk through the years. Dyrfinna had a thought about maybe being able to ride that one, but now that she could see the condition it was in, she understood that riding this old dragon would be out of the question.
And, if the dragon was this old, she needed to be careful. She didn’t know how its eyes fared, or its temperament.
“Aesa, stay back here and pet the kitty,” she told her sister. Aesa sat down with her back against the wall, and the cat walked into her lap as if it owned it. Dyrfinna came forward to meet the dragon.
“Dragon,” she said quietly, bowing. “I wish to have the honor to talk to you.”
The dragon looked around, as if trying to figure out where the voice had come from, until its eye landed on Dyrfinna.
“I’m the one speaking to you,” she said courteously. “Well met, dragon.”
Well met, young one, the dragon said. So you can speak to us. Is that some new spell you humans have made? Funny you never made one before.
Dyrfinna told the dragon about her sacrifices to Rjupa’s dragon and the emberdragon.
The dragon nodded. A bit of a powerful magic, that one. What brings you here? I have never seen you around these stables.
“I’m a guest here. I need to ask you about another piece of powerful magic. That’s what brought me to you.”
Come. Sit down on this ledge, the dragon said. You speak so quietly, it’s hard to hear. Tell me about this … magic, she said as Dyrfinna boosted herself up.
She turned and sat on the ledge, her feet dangling like a child’s. Now her head was almost at a level with its orange eye, and its smell of scorch grew thick. But the dragon eyed her. She wondered how old it was as she began talking.
Pretty forward of you to be asking all these questions of me, the dragon said, her tone changing in an instant. You, who is a stranger in a strange place. You, an enemy in the enemy’s palace.
Dyrfinna startled.
Oh yes, word’s gotten around about you, here in the stables, the dragon said, raising its head. An enemy combatant wandering around the king’s castle! Will wonders ever cease! A former commander from Queen Saehildr herself, a commander who was flung from her high position into exile on a dragon isle. Yes, your story has made the rounds. Is this story not true?
“Well, yes, it’s true,” Dyrfinna stammered. “But how did you know?”
It wasn’t difficult. You and your sweet emberdragon were locked in deadly combat against almost every dragon who lives in these stables. Nearly everybody here was up in the air, except for me. And they nearly called me into battle because of you, did you know that? Our dragonriders were that desperate to keep you and your little orange emberdragon away from this place. And yet, she added with a disgusted snort, here you sit. As if you own this place.
Dyrfinna was beginning to regret speaking to this dragon.
“Yes, here I am,” Dyrfinna said politely. “But one of Varinn’s people had kidnapped my little sister, and I was not going to let my sister be stolen by that scum.”
Pssh. Calling him scum, while you sit there, cool as an iceberg, said the dragon. Putting on that innocent and surprised act. I can see right through you, even if the king can’t.
Dyrfinna was amazed but hoped it didn’t show. “So what do you see?”
The dragon brought her face dangerously close to Dyrfinna’s, striking her with a wave of heat, the stink of cinders. You know what I see? I see unbridled ambition, rage, lust for power. All hiding under that cool exterior. You keep that façade up to fool people. But you can’t fool me.
Dyrfinna just watched the dragon. Replying to this comment, she was pretty sure, would be a terrible idea.
I see what you’re doing, the dragon hissed. I see you worming your way in here after your great fall. I see that ambition that’s coiled at the heart of you like a poisonous viper. You think you can handle it with no danger to yourself. But every viper bites. All you have to do is make it mad—or put it in danger. Then it bites, and it bites deep, and the poison runs through you….
Dyrfinna wished she could back away, not sure if the dragon would follow the example of the viper of which she spoke.
Don’t like what you’re hearing? the dragon hissed.
Dyrfinna’s senses were on high alert, but she couldn’t exactly say so to the dragon. “Your words hit home with a force that is not exactly pleasant.”
The dragon straightened. Well. Do they, now?
“They do, and I apologize for my conduct,” she said. “How can I make it up? How can I redeem myself from these sins?”
The dragon’s eye narrowed, and her head lowered to look more closely at Dyrfinna. There’s something that you can get for me.
Dyrfinna blinked. “You want me to get something for you?”
The dragon slanted its head as if eyeing a wayward child. Yes, it said, with a hint of a sneer. There is a mystery at the heart of this keep that could devour you alive. And I want it to.
“That sounds like an invitation to not pursue this mystery.”
The dragon showed its teeth. You will not be able to resist.
“You’re probably right,” Dyrfinna said.
The dragon hissed again. Stop saying what you think I want to hear. I see what you’re doing.
This time, Dyrfinna changed the subject. “Do you know about the undead dragons that they’re trying to raise?”
The dragon stopped, staring at her. The skin on its face made a creaking noise.
What did you say? More heat came off the dragon.
“A woman has stolen a shipload of warriors and intends to sacrifice them to raise dragons from the dead.”
Dyrfinna held still, feeling that the dragon was a breath away from bursting into flame—and sending her into flame like a wisp of grass.
You are lying, the dragon hissed. If you are making up stories to me, you will die in an instant.
“Upon the grave of my sister Leikny, I swear I am telling the truth.”
The dragon met her eye, as if weighing those words.
Dyrfinna did not waver, though she knew she stood balanced on the razor’s edge. “I know the value of an oath. And I swear
now that what I told you about the undead dragons is the truth.”
After a long moment the dragon relented and moved her head back. I will think about what you said. Come back to me later. There is some deep, ancient wrong related to this idea of raising the undead dragons, but I need to think about it for a while. Reach back into some ancient memories and legends. This takes time.
Dyrfinna nodded. “Thank you for your help, dragon.” She slid down from the ledge and landed on the ground. She felt the quiver in her legs, and hoped the dragon couldn’t see it.
You might want to get back to the rest of the castle, the dragon replied, the snark in her voice returning. Somehow, your friend has managed to vanish with my king. A magnificent piece of evildoing on your part, I believe.
Dyrfinna bowed stiffly and walked away, back straight. “Come on, Aesa,” she said quietly to her sister. “We’re leaving.”
She never wanted to speak to that dragon again … except she knew full well that she would have to.
Dyrfinna wanted desperately to take some action, but she was a stranger in this place—an enemy combatant, as the dragon had said.
Some of the things the dragon had said had drilled down into her soul, and she didn’t like that. Her best defense against things that bothered her was fast, resolute action of some sort, preferably punching someone. If she’d been at home, she could have suited up and gone on a raid someplace. Not here.
Unbridled ambition, rage, lust for power.
“That is not true,” she whispered. “There’s nothing in the world wrong with ambition if you drive it to the good.”
18
LUST FOR POWER
Gefjun
Nauma’s ship leaned in the light wind, its sail picking up enough to keep it sliding forward. What direction they were going was impossible to say, as far as Gefjun could tell. Fog enveloped them, everywhere they went. Sometimes the fog would thin enough for the sun to appear as a pale white orb. It sat on their right in the morning and on their left in the afternoon. Then billows of fog would darken the sky and obscure the sun. She wasn’t sure how they knew the direction, but they were heading north.
Gefjun longed for the light of the sun as never before. In this chill darkness, where the dew constantly gathered on her and Varinn, and moisture dripped from the sail where the fog condensed and turned to dew. Nauma had barrels under the mast to catch this fresh water, though Gefjun was more than half-sick of water.
Now plates of ice chunked against the sides of the ship. Gefjun prayed as never before that they wouldn’t find an iceberg in this endless fog.
“If you give me an heir, I’ll let you go.”
Gefjun startled. Nauma had crept up on them in the fog and had leaned down to whisper that to King Varinn.
“Get out of my sight,” Varinn said, and Gefjun’s skin crawled at the hatred in his voice.
“That’s creepy, you sicko. Get lost,” Gefjun said.
“I’m serious about bearing his heir,” Nauma said, winking at King Varinn.
“I swear on my life, I will kill you for that statement the first chance I get.” The heat of pure hatred radiated off King Varinn, and colored his voice.
“Hm. Good luck with that. Or she could bear your heir for me,” Nauma said, nodding at Gefjun. “Whichever is more comfortable for you. I just want that baby.”
Gefjun’s face heated up. The blush even traveled down into her arms, making them pink. She turned away from Nauma’s mocking eyes to look across the ocean, straining to see any sign of whales or puffins. But the wide watery world was a blur of gray and blue, and she couldn’t blast Nauma as she deserved because Nauma had paralyzed her singing voice.
“All the same, I can’t complain about what I have right now,” Nauma continued. “Thanks to you two, your armies will be coming this way soon, looking for you. You’re the bait. You’re going to allow me to capture so many ships and sacrifice a greater number of people. We will raise an incredible army of the undead. We’ll be unstoppable,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “We’ll take down king after king. Mm. Maybe I could persuade some of them to let me bear their heirs.”
“You need to stop before I vomit,” Gefjun said.
Nauma ignored her. “I could live in my choice of keeps. Live in the north in the summer, move to the south in the winter. And at the end of every day, I could relax by taking a nice, warm bath in the blood of my subjects.”
Gefjun grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”
Nauma grinned and stretched. “You gotta dream big. Look at me. I used to be an orphan girl living on the edge of some village that made me their scapegoat. They threw trash at me, made me trash, hit me every chance they got. Took my food out of my hands to watch me cry. Now look at me. I burned that village to the ground recently. I killed all their screaming babies, myself. It was great.”
Gefjun was trying to school her expression, but that last statement made her shut her eyes and turn away.
Nauma laughed. “Their faces when I was killing their babies? There’s no price you can put on a sight like that. Everything they did to me, I did to their babies. Ev-er-y single one of them. Because I knew everybody there. I knew all their hiding places for when invaders came. So those were the first places I went. There they were, clutching their babies when I came strolling in. Ah! the looks on their faces. I can still see them now.” She smiled, though that smile did not reach her eyes or forehead. Instead there was mockery, disdain.
“How did they not kill you when you came strolling in?” Gefjun said scornfully. “I think you’re making this whole story up.”
Nauma grinned. “No, not at all. I didn’t attack them until I was ready. I worked on my magic skills. Worked hard on them. I listened in on other song lessons. And I learned how to use a sword in ways that scared people. That was my childhood of innocence, you see.” Then she made a face. “Innocence. What a stupid word. I never got that,” she informed Gefjun. “All my life, I had to watch their children play. The children of all the parents that would smack me in the streets, humiliate me. All those parents who thought it was fun to throw their old bones at me and dump their chamber pots on me. I was the same age as their children, see. But because I was a witch’s get, I was cursed. There was no actual curse,” she added to Gefjun. “That was just some stuff they made up to justify what they were doing to me.”
Gefjun stayed silent, just listening. She wasn’t sure what to think about this story. She half-believed it. On the other hand, this was Nauma talking.
“So all my life, I watched those lucky children playing all the fun games I never got to play,” she added wistfully. Then she brightened and said, “But not anymore.” She’d been eating a goose leg, and now sat trying to work a bit of meat out of her back teeth, a merry, faraway look on her face.
You pit of rotten sewage, Gefjun thought. You pile of entrails.
“Oh, cheer up,” Nauma said, hopping to her feet from the barrel she was sitting on. “Sitting there scowling at me. Just think, it couldn’t have happened to a better group of people.”
“This is stupid,” Gefjun said. “Why are you telling me your idiot story? If you think I wanted to listen to your sob story, you’re out of your mind. Oh, wait, you’re already out of your mind.”
“I’m not telling you this because I think you want to hear it,” Nauma said, putting her hands on her head, elbows out, and stretching. “Quite the opposite, my sanctimonious friend.”
“I’m not your friend.” Gefjun rolled her eyes. A villain with a vocabulary. Big whoop.
“I’m glad, too,” Nauma said, grinning as she walked away. “People hate it so much when you kill their friends and families. The less compunction you have about somebody else’s feelings, the more fun it is to watch their faces. You know?” She winked at one of her crew mates as she walked by him. He looked away.
Through her back, Gefjun felt King Varinn’s shudder.
“I don’t care if there’s any truth to that story,” he said. “I wan
t her to die.”
Some time later, Gefjun woke, shivering, her shoulders and back aching. She needed to move but her body was tied against Varinn’s.
Then she realized why she woke up: he was groaning in his sleep. Low in his throat. “No, no, no, no…. ”
She felt his hands twitching behind his back, the involuntary muscle spasms of somebody dreaming.
“Shh,” she said, leaning back on him, though her arms, pinioned behind her back, wouldn’t let her lean back on him all the way. “You’re dreaming. It’s a bad dream. You’re okay.”
Presently his moaning subsided and he stirred, woke up a bit, with a sigh, and his hands stopped twitching. He stretched, or tried to. “Gefjun?”
“I’m here. Are you okay?”
“As okay as I’ll ever be, tied up on the enemy’s ship to be sacrificed to who-knows-what.”
“Shut up back there,” somebody yelled from Nauma’s crew, from where they lay on the oar benches.
“Oh. Okay,” he said, groggy. “I was just … I thought I was glad to not be dreaming.” He looked around him as if trying to get oriented. “Though now I’m not sure which is worse—the dream, or the reality.”
She wasn’t able to turn her hand far enough to take his hand in hers. The best she could do was stroke the side of his hand with her fingers.
“I don’t know which is worse either,” she whispered. “I’m having a hard time sleeping. It’s difficult to sleep while sitting up and our hands tied. Though I’d rather be tied to you than anybody else right now. I want to sleep. Very much.”
“But my dreams are always bad,” Gefjun said quietly.
“I know.”
“Can you do sleep magic?” she asked.
Varinn snorted. “I wish I could. Can you?”
“I have a song that makes the puffins want to be my special friend.”
“I’ve seen your magic friend. So he’s an enchanted puffin?”
“No. I called many puffins, and after they all left, he just stayed. That was a side effect I didn’t expect. But it’s kind of nice. I always hate turning down those eels that he offers me. It’s hard to tell with a puffin. I hope I don’t hurt his feelings.”
A Fire of Roses Page 18
