With Dragons She Walks

by Darby, Brit

  “Good morning, my Dragon,” she whispered sweetly.

  As his mind recalled the dream, confusion twisted with reality. It was so real, so …

  Suddenly, he was uncertain.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice husky.

  Cailin picked up on his doubt, his troubled thoughts. She reached out and smoothed his brow with her fingertips. “Trust me,” she murmured. “Trust the Dragons.”

  Drake pulled away, frustration driving him to do so. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know what to believe.”

  Cailin wanted to ease the confusion she saw on his face, heard in his voice. But she couldn’t. When he rose from their makeshift bed and walked away, she kept herself from following him. Her heart ached from wanting … from the need she had for this man. But this was something he must come to terms with on his own … she could not make him believe.

  Distress crept into her mind, stealing the calm she had found in the night. Would he ever understand her? Could Drake ever face his demons and bury the fear nurtured for so long within his soul? Was his past stronger than the present? Was the memory of the dead going to destroy the passion of the living?

  So many questions remained unanswered.

  And they twisted like a chain about Cailin’s heart.

  “WHAT WOULD YOU DO for your wife, young man?”

  Drake was surprised by his question, his curiosity already piqued by Ragnald summoning him to his longhouse. The jarl looked haggard, tired, his eyes reflecting his tortured thoughts.

  “I would do anything to keep Cailin from doing something foolish, something she thinks will prove to others that her visions are real,” Drake said earnestly.

  Ragnald studied Drake closely, but he remained silent for a long moment. When he did speak, his voice was quiet yet clear. “You do not believe in her visions?”

  Again, Drake was surprised. He sensed Ragnald knew something he was careful to hide. But, nonetheless, he felt his own hesitation, his uncertainty. He could lie, try to bluff his way as he had done in the past. But those he had succeeded fooling were not as astute as this man was. He chose to be honest. “I’m not sure what to believe. But Cailin believes, so I will stand by her, no matter what.”

  “Would you die for her?”

  Drake did not hesitate this time. “Yes.”

  “Come, sit.” Ragnald motioned to two chairs before the fire. “We have much to discuss.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE MOON RODE INTO the heavens, its light showered upon the crowd gathered to witness the Trial by Ordeal. It was a solemn occasion; few spoke, most prayed. What Cailin prepared to do, none had seen done before in living memory. Thirteen paces upon heated ploughshares, red-hot and glowing in the fire pit was formidable, if not impossible.

  Cailin stood ready, Leo by her side. She could not find Drake and her disappointment was obvious to his cousin. He leaned down and whispered to her, “He said he would be here, do not let it worry you.”

  Leo was right. Cailin had more important things to focus on and she summoned her strength, her Dragons. Her mind called to them and she closed her eyes to envision them. It was a cold evening but warmth spread through her, building to an inner fire as they touched her soul, empowered her being with their might.

  She was ready.

  Ragnald stood close by, his own face reflecting the seriousness of this feat. Bjorn and Thyra appeared to watch and gloat — it was time. “Are you ready to prove yourself, Cailin?”

  Cailin nodded. Her feet were already bare and she carefully tucked the bottom of the tunic she was wearing into the belt around her waist. She moved to the head of the pit where the ploughshares were being laid out, the iron glowing and steaming in the chill night.

  Taking a deep breath, Cailin stepped forward.

  At the last moment before her heel hit scalding iron, Ragnald’s strong grip pulled her back, startling her from her deep concentration.

  “Stop, my child. I know your convictions and courage are great, but you need not submit to this Trial by Ordeal. I know the truth.”

  Bjorn stormed over and grabbed Ragnald by the arm. His eyes revealed his fury, his reddened face his distress. “What is this, Father? She accepted Thyra’s challenge and it must be completed. Else she is proved false and her accusations evil lies.”

  “There is no need. I know what she claims is true.”

  Bjorn stepped back, releasing his father’s arm. “You are a fool! A doddering old man who hasn’t the wits to rule anymore.”

  “Yes, I am a fool, and my love and trust show an old man’s hopes. Always you have tried me, yet I have given you all. Now you go too far, Bjorn. You took your brother’s life and plot against mine. You shame me and are no longer my son. I heard you, with my own ears, scheming with this whore who dares don the blue cloak and call herself seer. Thyra’s wickedness has taken you from me and cast you into eternal darkness. I cannot help you now.”

  “I say you have lost all senses, old man.” Bjorn whirled on Cailin and pointed a finger in her face. “She has bewitched you. You will complete the challenge or be exposed, witch!”

  When Bjorn moved to grab Cailin and force her onto the ploughshares, he was forcibly pushed away. Drake stepped between them, his face a dark cloud. “You are a murderer and a coward, Bjorn. You hide behind this challenge like a child peeking around his mother’s skirts, just as you let her poison your brother for you. Poison is a woman’s trick. Are you a man, or a man-whore?”

  The blood drained from Bjorn’s face, then he flushed as pure fury rushed over him. “I shall kill you for that insult, Pict.”

  Drake circled Bjorn, studied him, disgust mirrored on his face. “You even squawk like a woman. Why don’t you show me if you have anything between your legs? Or has Thyra castrated you with the evil that lies between hers?”

  Cailin watched in dismay, knowing Drake intentionally insulted Bjorn openly to draw him into a fight; not just any fight, but a Holmgang, a fight to the death. She turned to Ragnald but from the look on his face, she suspected he was behind Drake’s actions.

  “This is insane, you must stop them.” Her words fell on deaf ears. “Please, Ragnald. I will do the thirteen paces, as challenged.”

  “No.” His word was sharp, final. “Your husband will fight Bjorn, justice will be served.”

  Thyra objected next. “How can this be? Why is this woman not subjected to the Ordeal? The challenge cannot be so easily dismissed. Freyja will not be denied vengeance.”

  Ragnald took a deep breath, as if drawing on reserves of patience. “I dismiss your challenge because I dismiss you!” His voice grew loud, his authority ringing in the notes. “You vile woman, you are the one who will be given over to the gods for justice. Here,” he pulled the tapestry from a nearby table and threw it at her. “See what a true Dream Weaver sees.”

  Thyra looked at the tapestry, her face blanching as she read the story it told.

  “Prepare for Holmgang,” he shouted.

  DRAKE STOOD READY, SWORD and shield in hand. Bjorn stood several paces away, a confident look fixed upon his stone-like features. Cailin knew so little of Drake, she wondered if he was prepared for a Viking-style duel. She had seen him fight but once, bare-handed, and, in the end, he had chosen to spare the life of his opponent. Would he think he had that option this time? There was no time to warn him — there would be no quarter given. It was a fight to the death.

  Many of the traditional aspects of a duel were dispensed with. The usual three days waiting period was ignored, no weregild would be awarded the victor. There would be no arena marked out, to fall out of bounds held no meaning, none here would be judged accordingly.

  There would be no rules in this fight. There would be no forfeiture accepted; no mercy given. The fighting would stop only when death was dealt, then and only then, would the survivor be deemed justified.

  “Queen of the warrior-women,” Cailin whispered, her eyes closing in prayer. “Freyja of the Black
Swordhand.”

  Cailin drew a deep cleansing breath and continued, “Mistress of Magick, enchantments deep, harken to this, your child.”

  She opened her eyes, unshed tears blurring her vision of the two men about to battle. “I weave strong magick for protection of my Dragon, deep magick to bind and chasten his enemy.”

  The lump in her throat caused her words to break, fear painfully constricting her heart. “Freyja, whisper your spell in my ear. Freyja, Queen of Valkyries, stand by my side so I may give him my strength.”

  Bjorn started to beat his shield with his weapon, slowly at first, then faster and louder. Then he stopped and tossed aside the shield with a sneer. It clanged to the earth in a cloud of dust.

  Drake did the same and cast his shield aside. The men came together in first strike, the shriek of metal against metal making Cailin flinch. Again and again, the song of battle rang out, the grunts and growls of men locked in a struggle for life and death like words, their voices carrying over the grim melody. She saw Drake’s muscles bulge from strain, over and over as he took stance to strike out at his enemy.

  Bjorn lacked many skills in life, but warrior skills were not among them. He stood firm against Drake’s attacks, confidence clear on his face. Despair sneaked into Cailin’s mind, stealing the air from her lungs. She looked to Leo, who stood at her side, but his face revealed little.

  “He tires too quickly,” she murmured, her gaze returning to the fight. Drake’s skin gleamed with perspiration, even as his breath froze in the cold night air. He had stripped his tunic off and stood bare-chested, his Dragons flexing, seeming to slither beneath his movements. Cailin felt helpless, forced to watch as Bjorn drove harder at his opponent, causing Drake to stumble backward.

  The crowd gasped in unison. Leo took Cailin’s hand in his and squeezed it, his eyes telling her to be brave and not despair. Something about his look, his calmness made Cailin wonder. Again she watched, this time, looking closer at Drake’s actions.

  Bjorn continued his assault, each mounted attack sapping his energy, drop by drop. Time passed. His legs grew tired, his feet dragging upon the ground as if they were weighted down. His breathing strained, wheezing as the chill burned his lungs. Teeth bared, he lunged, sword raised to strike a fatal blow, his triumphant cry piercing and cocky.

  Drake countered and stepped away, leaving Bjorn’s blade to bite air. Gracefully, he brought his own sword around to catch flesh, the tip slicing deep into bone. Bjorn stopped, pain claiming his look of victory, surprise quickly at its heel.

  He slung a guttural oath at Drake and struck again. The two powerful men came together, like two bucks in battle, antlers locked, clashing, slashing. Neither gave as they struggled, the mighty arms quivering with strain, feet digging into earth to maintain their balance.

  Slowly, Bjorn forced his sword to Drake’s throat, the blade so close it nicked skin. Drake grimaced and dug deep, pure strength pushing the cutting edge away. Suddenly, they pulled apart, each whirling about to swing. Metal screamed against metal, sparks flying at each strike.

  Swords grew heavy, each man struggled, their attacks now wild and unruly. Cailin feared Drake would collapse from the exertion, but he kept his sword arm steady. For all purposes, he looked on the edge of exhaustion and Bjorn again took advantage.

  Drake appeared to stumble and lose his balance; the crowd gasped. With one last savage leap and triumphant cry, Bjorn raised his sword to drive home into Drake’s heart. Instead, Drake waited until his opponent was close, then twisted and struck, bringing his sword up into Bjorn’s unprotected stomach. The blade went through his middle, the bloodied tip protruding from his back.

  Shock filled Bjorn’s eyes and he fell forward into Drake’s arms, his mouth gaping open in surprise. Drake shoved the sword deeper a second time, until the hilt stopped him from driving it further.

  Bjorn gasped, his hand reaching up to grab Drake’s arm. “It seems,” he laughed, blood trickling from his mouth, “you are not as weak a rabbit as you appeared to be.” He slumped as death stole the last breath from his lips.

  THYRA’S SCREAM SPLIT THE sudden quiet that fell over the crowd. She ran to Bjorn, threw herself over his lifeless body and wailed. Then she lifted her head and cried at Ragnald, “May the gods curse you, old man!”

  Ragnald watched the woman as she pulled herself back onto her feet, blood upon her hands and clothes. His son’s blood. Yet the sadness that pulled at his heart was not for Bjorn’s death, but for his life and how he had chosen to live it.

  “Bjorn chose a dark path and he has paid for it. Now, what shall I do with you? You are as complicit in my eldest son’s death as Bjorn. Tell me, how should you pay for your choice to be my son’s whore and a murderess?”

  Thyra clearly hadn’t given any thought to the danger she was in until now. Uncertainty crept over her tear-stained face and filled her dark eyes. Then she spat at the ground and looked up at her accuser and judge. “You would not dare kill a seer. Freyja will not be so dishonored.”

  Ragnald considered her words, then made his decision. “You are forever banished from this kingdom, from the lands I govern, from the laws that protect you. Any who dare offer the hand of kindness will share your fate. Outlawry shall bind you in its cruel grasp, giving you no respite in the bitter winter before us.”

  “No,” Thyra gasped, fear wiping the insolence from her face. “I cannot survive alone in the wilderness.”

  “Then you must look to the mighty Freyja for your salvation,” Ragnald sneered, then turned on his heel and left. His judgment made, there was naught to be done for the woman. He shrugged. Most likely, she would become fodder for the hungry wolves of winter.

  Chapter Nineteen

  CAILIN DABBED AT THE cuts and bruises covering Drake, trying to cleanse him of the dirt and sweat covering his body. She tried to still her trembling hands but found it difficult to rid herself of the fear she had felt as he fought Bjorn. Over and over she relived the battle, each agonizing moment endured while she thought Drake might be killed.

  “I am not a child.” Drake grabbed her wrist. “I shall wash myself.”

  Cailin nodded, relieved he was awake even if grumbling. Not knowing what else to say, she let him take the wet rag, pulled away and stood. He tossed aside the cloth and sat up, the effort taking energy he did not have. But with a determined grunt, he slung his legs off the side of the bed he now lay on and stood.

  “There was a time,” he drawled, trying to steady his legs, “I’d not be put to bed like a babe from a mere fight.”

  His cavalier attitude grated Cailin’s already strained nerves. Arms folded, she paced. “What on earth possessed you to challenge Bjorn? You’ve been chained and beaten and starved for years, what did you expect? To drink the night away celebrating your victory? Perhaps slay a few Dragons for me?”

  His eyes darkened at her sarcasm. “That would be preferable to being laid out like a woman in a dead faint!”

  “None—” Cailin stopped, her voice cracking with pent-up emotions. “None thought any such thing. You fought a capable warrior and won. Do not make light of what you have done.”

  Drake saw the guilt in her eyes. “I could not let you complete the challenge, Cailin.”

  “I am grateful, but you should not have taken such a risk on my account.”

  “I will take a thousand such risks to keep you safe.”

  Drake’s words came out a whisper. He saw his sentiment made Cailin close her eyes. A blush stained her cheeks and he knew she struggled to find the right words. When she opened her eyes again, he saw such sadness it tore at his heart.

  “What have I said to cause you such sorrow?” Drake did not disguise the disappointment in his voice. He all but declared his love for her and she looked as if the very thought desolated her.

  “I had no right to involve you in my troubles. You should have walked away when you had the chance.”

  Confusion scorched his mind, his thoughts pushed one after another into a
jumbled mess. “Is that what you wish? Are you so fickle and flighty you make love to me one moment, then push me away the next?”

  “I worry,” she cried, hurt echoing in her voice. “You act rashly and I could not bear it if you were hurt! I should never have placed you in such danger. What sort of woman am I to do such a thing?”

  “What kind of man would I be if I let my wife burn and maim herself?”

  “Drake.” Cailin paused to gather her thoughts. A single tear slid down her cheek, it felt strange, unnatural on her face. She wiped it away, her answer choked and weak. “You cannot possibly think of yourself as my husband. Not when you spoke the words in haste — lies to placate my family. I do not hold you to promises made under the circumstances.”

  “I spoke the words.” Drake turned away. “I will stand by them.”

  For the second time that day, Cailin watched him walk away.

  MORE THAN ANYTHING, CAILIN wanted to believe Drake meant what he said. But how could she? They knew nothing about one another; they hadn’t even known each other for long. Days in fact, too short a time to determine his reasons for his commitment, for risking death to keep her from harm.

  Cailin wasn’t even sure how she felt about Drake. She was unmistakably drawn to him. From the first time she saw him she knew he was her Dragon, her strength. But it went further, deeper than a mystical connection … and it was this unknown power he held over her that she did not understand. Was it love? It seemed an unreasonable notion. One her mind did not believe to be true, though her heart cried otherwise.

  She was tired, tired beyond words. Perhaps some sleep would clear her muddled mind.

  THYRA STUMBLED AND FELL, the rocks bruising her tender flesh. She tried to regain her footing, but crumpled upon the hard earth, weak and disheartened. It was too long since she had eaten, and then it was only frozen berries still clinging to a dead vine as winter covered them with frost. Anger sustained her for the first long hours after being banished, but now, tears filled her weary eyes.