by Kate Pearce
Steinn pulled hard on the reins, but Knurre didn’t obey. Why did that lizard have to fight him each and every single time? Each dragon and its rider around him worked as a team. He could practically hear his father spitting words in his ear. “Control your mount, boy! Before your enemies control how you enter the afterlife!”
And what if the mount couldn’t be controlled without a second rider?
His gaze swept to the countryside. No more than five miles ahead, the borderline to his clan’s lands loomed. Month after month the raiders had approached and he’d beaten them back. But so far today, with such numbers, his chances at success were dwindling.
A raider came at him, his beast’s claws extended wide toward them. The raider’s mount snarled, its mouth opening wide as a spray of dry heat and fire shot toward them.
Knurre was a far quicker ride than the reds. The dragon’s larger size should’ve hindered it, but with grace and agility, it slid sideways out of the shot and fired its own: a blast of icy mist that froze the raider and his mount. His dead enemies rained down from the sky, one after the other.
All of this was done without direction from Steinn. Such was his lack of control over his mount.
By the time a single raider remained, all they caught was his retreating back. Knurre raced after them until Steinn pulled him back.
“Let the bastard, go!” He yanked on the ropes. Only to have Knurre pull back just as hard. The pain from Steinn’s shoulder wound bit at him, but he ignored it. “Stubborn, scaly—”
When the white dragon came to an abrupt stop, the air was forced from his lungs as he slammed hard into the leather saddle.
What came next was a slew of curses he never used unless he faced a foe in battle. He’d be damned if he’d let this creature get the best of him. He dug his heels into stirrups, letting his sword jut into the lizard’s scaly hide. The poke made Knurre grunt.
“You can think again if you think I’ll reward you for this behavior!” Steinn spat.
The beast snorted ice from its nostrils.
Begrudgingly, he returned to the town Eik, one man and beast without much injury. Albeit most of Steinn’s injuries were to his pride. They landed with a hard, awkward thump instead of the gentle ascend he expected. Why didn’t he give up?
‘Cause you’d be coming back dead on your shield.
His younger brother, Tre, as well as the other warriors in the clan gathered in to help restrain Knurre.
“Don’t bother,” Steinn said with a grunt. By the time he slid off the saddle, Knurre jumped out of the way. With a dagger-filled hiss, the dragon snapped at the warriors who had arrived to help secure it.
Steinn whistled hard between his thumbs. The command rarely worked the past couple of days—even with the promise of salted fish for the creature.
The dragon stretched out its white wings and then picked up momentum as it mustered up the speed to ascend. No one stopped it as it took flight again and disappeared over the nearest hill.
Damn scaly, hairless, bat… Bah!
Tre approached him. “I don’t know why you bother with that thing.”
Steinn often had the same question. “It is what it is. If we want to protect Eik, I do what I must.” The last time the clan had been attacked, all their men, even with their fire dragons, had little strength against the opposing clan’s numbers. It was Knurre’s far superior abilities that kept the far stronger groups from sweeping in to take over.
“You’re hurt,” Tre remarked.
Steinn reached for his shoulder and came away with blood. The stain on his fingers was as dark as sand under his feet. He let the blood drip on the rocks and said a blessing to the Goddess for protection. Sooner or later he’d have to summon Knurre again and he should be grateful he hadn’t killed himself or that damn dragon.
He brushed off Tre’s further attempts at concern and made his way to the chieftain’s great hall. The villagers kept working around him, only a few concerned about what took place with the raiders. The chieftain’s return meant everyone would be safe for a bit longer.
The Eik family great hall wasn’t much compared to other halls he’d seen in villages to the east, but he had good memories here. His brother spent most of his time managing the upkeep. A job meant for the chieftain who was too busy guarding the borders. He had enough responsibilities keeping the village safe and protecting the crystal mines from those who sought to take what his forefathers had fought so hard to protect.
“Send someone after Knurre,” he said to Tre. “Don’t—”
“I know. Just follow him.”
Tre nodded. He had come to do a good job. Even though he was seventeen years old, the boy worked hard and soon would be riding his own mount to protect the clan.
Dust from the outside had settled along the doorway so Steinn shut the door after himself. Eik hall hadn’t seen much in terms of cleaning for the past couple of months. After his father had passed away, the laughter ended. Maybe he should take a wife like Tre suggested. The dust under his feet and the cobwebs in the corners had grown far too much for Greta, their elderly maidservant to handle.
A bed of crystals sat in a pile at the fireplace, glowing and radiating heat. Winter was coming to the desert in a few months and soon a chill would touch the corners of the home.
As he took in the rest of the great room, a place his father and uncles had built with their own hands, he had trouble pushing away memories from the past. This hall had been a place where he had run about playing with Tre. His mother had been long dead before that time from birthing his brother.
Ulfr, the village elder, approached Steinn as he discarded his weapons. “My wife has prepared a meal for your victory. I want the chieftain to come sit at my fire instead of brooding all alone here with an old woman.”
From the corner where she mended clothes, the elderly woman harrumphed. “The master eats my food just fine.”
“He has a fire dragon’s cast iron stomach, then,” Ulfr remarked.
Steinn couldn’t resist chuckling. For the past couple of months, the man had been pushing his eldest daughter on him.
“You need to keep our clan ways going,” Ulfr always chided.
Looks like he’d never escape before winter came without taking a woman. Naturally, his thoughts drifted to another, dark-haired woman. She would’ve made the pain from all the fighting much easier to endure. Perhaps she’d say a joke or two about how he got hurt each time. The memory of her last visit to Eik made him smile.
A few hours later, he was sated and full of meade and fine food. Ulfr’s wife cooked a tasty meal. Their six children circled around them and filled the elder’s home with laughter.
His eldest daughter, Finna, served Steinn all night, but he could do no more than acknowledge the bold smile he'd seen countless times before. She was pretty enough with narrow hips and ample breasts.
Sleep tugged at him. He should’ve gone home before they’d cleared the table. The children had gone to bed, Finna had disappeared, and now Ulfr sat at the head of the table with his wife in his lap.
Steinn’s gaze wavered, but he caught sight of Ulfr’s hand sneaking under his wife’s skirts. The woman’s sharp inhale told him the man had found what he’d sought.
How long had it been since he’d taken a woman? A month or so. A few in the village were quite willing to warm his bed and were driven enough to be the chieftain’s wife.
And yet none of them were Drifa.
To keep himself from sleeping at Ulfr’s table, Steinn returned to the chieftain’s quarters in the hall. This late at night, the hall was quiet. Other than the sounds of his boot’s footsteps along the wooden planks, not a single sound echoed along the hallway to his quarters. Once inside, he expected nothing but darkness, but a candle flickered in the corner and a woman lying in the bed stirred.
“What are you doing here, Finna?” he asked.
“I came to warm your bed.” She got off the bed and strode toward him. The slight sway of her hips
should’ve been seductive, but all he could do was sigh.
He could make out her coy smile in the dim room. The same one she’d used for every trader who visited town. He wasn’t a fool to know what she sought to be whether it was as a chieftain’s wife or a trader’s woman.
As much as he wanted to retire, he couldn’t help but see Drifa while Finna discarded his tunic. But it was Finna’s, and not Drifa’s strong hands that worked at the muscles along his shoulders, careful to avoid his wound. There wasn’t any hesitation to her seduction. With eagerness, she held his gaze as her palm fluttered over his stomach muscles and finally brushed against his erection. His shaft stiffened from the delicate attention. Her light kisses along his clavicle were bold, yet soft and filled him with lust. All he could do to restrain himself was clench his fists while she pleasured him. At first each stroke across his cock was slow, growing faster with each twist of her hand. He moaned as tension grew in his body.
He had a perfectly good woman standing in front of him, willing and ready to give him pleasure and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about someone else.
He tried to drive away his errant thoughts, but as Finna drew him toward the bed, he imagined it was Drifa, with her wider hips, who glanced over her shoulder to beckon him. A blue-eyed temptation, instead of a gray-eyed blonde, positioned him to lie on his back as she draped her slim legs over his hips. A curtain of long black hair partially covered Drifa’s pink nipples. Sweet and waiting to be suckled.
Foreplay wasn’t necessary. In his mind he saw Drifa above him, sheathing his cock with ease and riding him. Not to seek out his pleasure, but to find her own. Many times before he’d imagined Drifa in this bed. Their wedding night always came to mind. They wouldn’t rut like dragons in heat—their lovemaking would be slow and he’d taste every inch of Drifa’s skin until she burned with anticipation. She’d call out his name again and again.
Finna stiffened above him, but his climax was reluctant, his thoughts still clung to his beloved who’d left him behind. With a twist of her hips, she pushed him over the edge and his body melted with release.
Drifa… Why couldn't he let her go?
For some reason, he held on to the last moment they'd seen each other three years ago. The bitter expression on her face was seared into him. Her reddened eyes and the spiteful words she'd said to him couldn't be forgotten.
Somehow, he'd let one woman dictate his happiness.
Now that she was spent, Finna collapsed onto his chest. He sensed her triumphant smile, but his mood didn’t reflect hers. They’d done this before and the outcome had been the same. When she reached again to kiss him, he turned his head away. To him such an intimate act was meant for lovers. For man and wife and right now the woman in his bed wasn’t who he truly wanted there.
Not long after he’d dozed off for a bit, he awoke to find Finna had left his bed. She hadn’t said goodbye to him last time either. His sleep was restless, but eventually he managed to find peace.
A few hours later he woke up stiff and tired. Sleeping into the late morning was impossible, so he left his bed to see what work needed to be done. If he didn’t have to worry about their food supplies for the upcoming winter, he’d prefer resting his injured shoulder. This early in the morning the hall should’ve been empty, but instead he spotted a herald bounding in, his dark, hooded cape covering half of his face. Steinn met him in the middle of the hall.
Once the herald removed his gloves, Steinn caught sight of his pale, soft hands. The older man had likely not seen a hard day’s work in a house or a cave.
“I was told by a servant that the chieftain is here,” the man said.
“I am him.” His voice was still groggy.
“Brimir, the chieftain of Forsvollr, has called a warrior from each clan to his village.”
Forsvollr was on the other side of the Frost River that separated the Outlands from the rest of Muspellheim. At least a day’s ride on a strong dragon. What was going on?
The herald continued. “A threat has come to our world from the heavens—”
“Why are we just now hearing about this?” He closed in on the man.
The herald made a rude noise and looked over the hall. “News travels slowly out here and the Outlands are filled with nothing but volcanic ash and pitiful crystal fields. Traders with valuable news must have no interest in such places.”
Even from where he stood, the herald smelled like a perfumed wench. Such rude remarks from someone who hadn’t bled in battle were foolish.
“The orders are clear,” the older man said with an air of authority. “As the chieftain you must choose a warrior or come yourself. You’ve been called to fight and defend our lands.”
Steinn held his expression in check. Now wasn’t the time for him to leave. Not with raiders pressing against his borders. “When do I need to report to Forsvollr?”
“You have two days.” The man’s smirk grew wider. “And one of those days has already passed.”
2
“You must return to the Outlands.” An older woman had said not too long ago to Drifa Ragnardottir. “But you are required to return when you have answered the summons of your clan. You are their best warrior and our magic will be of value.”
Drifa snorted and wrapped her white cloak around her shoulders to keep the frosty breeze from Niflheim at bay. Even the bitter cold from the mountains beyond the ship couldn’t restrain the heat building in her face.
“After the mission has been completed, may I stay in the Outlands for a while?” she had asked the high priestess of the Women of the Frost.
“When I said you’re expected to return, that meant you must board a ship north the moment the warriors have defeated the enemy.” She tucked the crystal shard that hung on a string around her neck underneath the gray gown she wore.
There weren’t any goodbyes either. No blessings or embraces from the other women. Her fists clenched the side of the longship tighter. She shouldn’t have asked to go home. Her mother would’ve sent her back anyway. Her mother had been unable to answer the Call.
“Our clan has always had a Women of Frost within their ranks for the past five generations,” her mother had said. “I was the first to decline their holy gift after I lay with your father and came away with child.”
So when word spread through the village that she had the gift her mother had, she boarded a ship for the journey to Niflheim. Whatever held her in Muspellheim had been left behind to help the witches drive back the growing desert. As the years had gone by their numbers had dwindled.
The weathered Norsemen on the longship, who brought a shipment of crystals and supplies to the Women of the Frost, eyed her from their places where they rowed. She held her staff close to her side. Let them get curious, she thought. They’d taste the petrified wood on their arses if they wanted a sample.
With favorable currents, the ride lasted two days. No one bothered her at first. All she had was her thoughts and the slight plopping sound as the oar blades hit the water. The captain was amicable enough, giving her salted fish when the men ate. He offered her a pallet at the back of the boat, but based on the hunger in his eyes, he wanted her to lay with him to help warm it.
Only a fool fell for such charms.
She’d slept in a freezing room most of her stay in Niflheim—a few days out in the cold was nothing. As they headed south, the persistent chill in the air turned humid. At night, the glowing, hazy lights in the sky from the Heaven’s Claw were even less visible. The snow-capped mountains that separated Niflheim from Muspellheim disappeared in the distance and the riverbed grew more and more barren. The brown sand darkened and turned to blood red.
I’m home, she thought. A part of her didn’t miss seeing such things though. They reminded her of what she’d left behind for her new life.
The second day didn’t go as well as the first. The men grew restless as they approached the city of Forsvollr, the place where all the clans would send warriors to determine a plan of action
. The city was no more than an hour away when the first man tried to approach her. Did the damn fool think she used her staff as a walking stick?
“You’re a pretty one,” he said, flashing teeth that had crusted with brown spots and age. The sun had weathered his skin to a wrinkly brown.
“How kind of you,” she mumbled.
Naturally, the captain was nowhere to be found.
“Will you be needin’ company or shelter in Forsvollr?” he asked. “I hear the Women of the Frost are always hiding up there without any men.”
“I need nothing from a man.”
He reached for her, but the moment he brushed against her cape, a hard swing of her staff knocked him off his feet and left him face first on the floor. He didn’t even see the sweep coming.
“Look here.” She spoke loud enough for the others to hear. “I’ll say it nice and slow in case anyone comes back again for more. I’m not interested in what you’re offering. Whatever little twig you have between your legs will be broken in half. Got it?”
The crusty Viking got the point, and with a nod he shuffled back.
He wasn’t the first and would not be the last man to approach her. Survival meant learning the art of combat. How often had she fought off suitors before she had left for the Niflheim? Far too many.
Not everyone was bad though. A tall man with dark brown hair came to mind, but she shoved the thought away. Thinking about the past kept her from focusing on the here and now.
The men left her alone after her little display. Her glares were warning enough. It was just as well since Forsvollr grew in the distance. Lines of smoke rose in the sky. The smell of civilization scraped against the back of her throat. She’d never been here before. Tales from men who brought their goods along the rivers had left her with the impression that the Outlands had far kinder people than the snakes who lingered around places like Forsvollr. Many of the rivers converged here making it an ideal place for trade for the Women. This land had fertile places for meager crops, but not a single crystal deposit could be found nearby. It was the Outlands, her home with its bitter air and mine deposits that provided crystals for the larger cities.
