Dragon’s Blood: A Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  I nodded at the dragon and managed, “Pleased to meet you.” It wasn’t as if I could shake hands. The name, Zelli, argued the beast was female, and unlike Ysien, she hadn’t done anything to alienate me.

  Not yet.

  She puffed steam my way, a good sign from a dragon. “Pleased to meet you as well, Rowan.” She stressed my proper—as opposed to my true—name, and I loved her for it. Maybe she and I were destined to get along.

  Ysien glared at her. She glared right back and said, “’Tis a small enough thing. I say we accommodate where we can.”

  Before Ysien could correct her or order her to call me Runa, I smiled brightly and said, “What is this one last thing we have to do? Whatever it is, could we hurry it along? Bjorn and I were heading back to Earth in a little bit.”

  “Why?” Ysien bit off the word.

  “Now you look here.” I craned my neck back to attempt to look him in the eyes. “I don’t answer to you. My life and my home”—I stressed the word home—“are there. I do not require your permission to return home. Besides, I want to experiment to see if I can move some of the lore materials from world to world.”

  “Mmph. Does Nidhogg know?”

  “I don’t answer to him, either,” I replied tartly.

  Zelli pushed between us. “How would ye feel about riding me? ’Tisn’t something dragons normally offer, and ’twas the death knell of our relationship with the Celtic gods. They would have used us for steeds.” She turned her head, and the steam turned to a rain of ashy smoke.

  My eyes widened. I’m sure my mouth fell open, but I shut it fast. Of all the things she might have said, her invitation to jump on her back was the last one I’d have anticipated. I’d ridden in the occasional airplane back before the Breaking, but this was different.

  “Rowan?” Zelli prodded.

  “Uh, sure. I guess it would be interesting,” I stammered. I’m not usually at a loss for words. “Why would I be doing this?”

  “None of us are certain what ye’ll be capable of. Ye may find your own dragon form. In the meantime, ye must needs practice aerial warcraft. For that, ye require a companion who can fly.” After a hesitation, she added, “I volunteered.”

  I had a feeling she hadn’t had any competition. More than once, I’d thought how convenient wings would be. For one thing, flight offered a superior view of the battlefield. For another, wings would move me out of harm’s way from some predators.

  Her jaws lolled in an approximation of a smile.

  Magic jumped to my summons, and I vaulted onto her back. “What about Bjorn?” I asked. “We’re a team. We fight together.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Ysien said sourly and jerked his head to one side.

  The smoke had finally cleared sufficiently for me to make out Bjorn astride a black dragon who’d just leapt skyward. I reached for him with mind speech, not expecting much, but I broke through. “Hey there.”

  “We’ll talk later,” he said. I knew him well enough to hear controlled fury beneath his words. He hadn’t liked it at all when the dragons had erected a barrier between us.

  “Ready?” Zelli spread her great wings. When I glanced over a shoulder, I was awestruck by how big they were close-up.

  “I think so. Anything I need to know?”

  She bugled laughter. “Doona fall off.”

  I settled myself farther forward until I could wrap my arms around her neck. A pair of horns sprouted from the juncture where her neck attached to her back. They looked like a better bet balance-wise, so I gripped them instead.

  She edged away from the group and sprang into the air. The transition felt effortless. One moment her hind legs were planted on the ground, the next, we were flying. “Just a little bit here to get you used to things,” she spoke into my mind.

  I must have been more nervous than I thought because I had those horns in a death grip, and my eyes were shut. I pried them open as we banked left and right and flew in a figure-eight. Next, she climbed steeply, and I pressed my legs into her hide. She was warm. Might come in handy on a cold day. We hit some kind of zenith because she dove toward the ground, pulling up at the last moment. A heady exhilaration ran through me, and I whooped for the sheer joy of moving through the skies.

  “How are ye doing?” she asked.

  “I love this!” It wasn’t an exaggeration. Riding Zelli was a lot like when Bjorn and I had first joined our magic. Destiny had speared me that day, making it abundantly clear our power was created to work together. Riding the dragon had a familiar feel to it, as if I’d done it in another lifetime.

  “Ready to fight?”

  “Yes!” I gathered defensive magic, while warding myself. Should I ward her too?

  She must have been in my mind because she said, “Worry about yourself, Dragon Heir. I will be fine.”

  I scanned the ground. While we’d been experimenting, Ysien—or someone—had been busy. Targets lined the far side of the clearing. Bjorn and the black dragon were heading right for them. Power burst from Bjorn, and the two targets on the end disintegrated.

  We waited for them to clear the area before we did our own strafing run. This was easy. Too easy. While I recognized that no enemy would just stand there and wait for me to mow them down, my aerial perch added a whole new dimension to my offensive strategies.

  Fighting aside, riding the dragon sang to something deep inside me. It held a rightness that filled me with giddy joy. I’d have whooped again, but it wasn’t dignified. Beneath us, dragons replaced the spent targets, infusing smaller ones with magic to make them harder to hit.

  “Once more,” I shouted, too excited to hide my enthusiasm. I felt like a kid who’d just been handed the best toy ever. A glance at Bjorn told me he was as caught up in the whole dragon-riding gig as me. His usually stern face had relaxed into a smile. Power crackled around him, enhancing his unearthly beauty.

  And then it was our turn again. Zelli added her power to mine, and we annihilated the entire rest of the row. I did whoop then, and she bugled. Maybe my crude shrieks were buried by her victory cries. I hoped so.

  I wanted to fly and fly and fly, but we thumped onto the ground, and she folded her wings. Turning her head, she puffed steam around me. “Thank you,” I said. “That was unbelievable.”

  “Doona tell anyone,” she whispered into my mind, “but I enjoyed our flight.”

  “It will be our secret.” I hesitated before adding, “Until next time?” I held my breath. There had to be a next time. This had been too brilliant not to have a repeat.

  I tossed a leg over her side and jumped down, disappointed she hadn’t confirmed there would be a next time. I was almost across the clearing to where Bjorn stood when she said, “Until next time, Dragon Heir.”

  I spun to face her and raised a hand in farewell. My throat was thick with emotion, and I didn’t want her to leave. She puffed smoke my way, spread her wings, and circled to gain altitude. One by one, the other dragons departed as well. While I might be sorry to see Zelli go, I was grateful to avoid another confrontation with Ysien. I was a disappointment to him. I read those signs well enough. Mother had been a master at teaching them to me.

  Bjorn covered the remaining distance between us and draped an arm around my shoulders. “Flying was unexpected. And delightful.”

  I leaned my head against him for a moment. It had been all those things, and a whole lot more. I didn’t want to muck about describing what had felt surreal. Words might ruin it, so I asked, “What’s next?” It was past midday from the angle of the sun.

  “Ysien reminded me I need to commission several magical blades. He and Nidhogg worked on a list with me before we battled the griffon. Since then—”

  “We haven’t had any time,” I cut in. “Yeah, I’m well aware of that.” I looked away from his direct gaze. It wasn’t as if we were mated or anything. We could—no, should—do things separately. “How about this?”

  I wriggled out from beneath his arm. Leaving his side was harder
than getting off Zelli had been, and both those things worried me. I’d gotten by being strong, needing no one.

  “How about what?” Warmth and caring streamed from him. I could lose myself in his blue eyes, fall into their beauty and never surface.

  Alarm bells rang deep in my mind. “I’ll go inside and finish the section I was working on in that one scroll. If you’re not back by the time I finish, I’ll teleport to Earth and look in on the witches.”

  His smile faded a notch. “Sure, Rowan. Will you meet me back here, or—”

  “Either way,” I said. “I’ll be at one of the two coven strongholds. When I’m done there, I’ll head back this way. Might be a couple of days, though. Is it still all right for me to try to take one of the lore books with me?”

  He nodded. “It will let you know quick enough if it doesn’t want to leave.” Before he was even done speaking, power flickered around him as he built a teleport spell.

  I wanted to grab his arm, tell him I’d go with him, that we’d do everything together, but I kept my mouth clamped shut and hopefully concealed my stupid, ridiculous neediness. We had a job to do. A world to save. Once we’d pulled Earth out of the gutter, we could focus on each other.

  I nodded a farewell and sprinted for the house not trusting myself to stick around. I’d bought us a little space from one another. May as well make good use of it. I was certain I’d done the right thing, but desolation battered me.

  I didn’t get it. Before, being on my own had always been not only acceptable, but preferable to hanging around with others. I shook myself from stem to stern. I had to locate that solo headspace again, and pronto. Bjorn’s cottage was not the place to accomplish it. The second I got near the place, his scent reached for me. The sea mingled with sunbaked clay tugged at my heart. My soul.

  Resolute, I trotted to the place I’d been working and picked up the scroll. I’d promised, given my word I’d work through this one scroll. When I finished it, though, I’d be gone.

  Chapter Two, Bjorn

  I didn’t want to leave Rowan. Major understatement. It damn near killed me to leave her, but I’d finally freed up a spot of time to see about commissioning magical blades. From the looks of things, Rowan was steeped in conflicts, the ones where she was determined not to need me or anyone. So maybe giving her some space wasn’t a bad idea.

  The smith with the best reputation was located several leagues from my cottage in Vanaheim. I could have walked, but I teleported to save time. I wasn’t sure what I expected, probably something more modern. His forge stood in an ancient stone structure with mortar chipping out from between the rocks.

  A spring bubbled into a rock-lined pool just outside his falling-off-its-hinges front door. The mostly open door made it easy to knock and walk inside. It took a while before he looked up from the molten metal he was shaping.

  After I gave him the list of what I needed, he turned and scanned a row of lethal-looking blades, clucking before he handed me one. I hefted the broadsword and swung it. The damn thing nearly unbalanced me, but I recovered. Kind of.

  Hagar, the smith, bellowed laughter.

  Once he got himself under control, he asked, “Mayhap something a wee bit lighter, Master Sorcerer?” Build like an ox, he was beefy and broad. A leather apron spanned his waist and covered stained leather breeks. His upper body was naked, and sweat glistened on his deeply tanned chest and shoulders. Black hair streaked with white was gathered into a single braid that fell to midback. He regarded me out of shrewd dark eyes tucked under bushy black brows.

  I was certain a giant had to be somewhere in his family line.

  Before I had a chance to respond, he plucked my list from a raised table where he’d dropped it atop an array of metal-working tools. The forge put out an ungodly amount of heat, given it was two meters away from us.

  Annoyed by my lackluster performance, I picked up the blade once more and added my magic to the mix. This time, I swung it handily. When I set it back in its spot in the row of gleaming weapons, I said, “Not necessarily lighter.”

  Hagar peered at the list. “When do you want all these items?” he growled. “And who is paying for them? I require half up front.”

  “Nidhogg will reimburse you, and I must be present when you pour the blades.”

  “Nidhogg, as in the Norse dragon?” Hagar’s eyebrows crawled up his broad, flat forehead.

  “The same.” I nodded affably.

  “Pfft. Never known a dragon to pay for anything. Gold goes into their hoards, but it never leaves. Assuming I’m wrong, why do you have to be here when I pour the blades?”

  We’d covered that ground right after I arrived. Not about Nidhogg, but about me needing to be here. I resisted the temptation to tell him his brawn had robbed him of brains. No worries about him reading my mind. He didn’t have the magic to light a candle.

  “I must add enchantment to the casting, so the blades will be specific for different types of evil. If magic is part of their makeup, the blades will be simpler to control.”

  Hagar nodded slowly. “Aye. You did say that. I’d forgotten.” He exhaled noisily and mopped his forehead with the back of one ham-sized hand. “Fine. Bjorn Nighthorse. You have Nidhogg stop in here and pay me a hundred guilders. Once that’s done, I’ll set up time to make your blades and send a runner to let you know.”

  “I’m not always here.” I did my best to maintain an even expression. I’d never commissioned a custom blade before, but a hundred guilders was an immense amount, and it was only half the total.

  He shrugged. “If you aren’t, I’ll set the project to one side until you are. Of course, then you’ll have to wait until a slot opens in my schedule.”

  “I understand. Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”

  “Actually, it was no notice, but people stop by here all the time.”

  I seriously doubted it. Hagar was so far off the beaten path, no one was likely to drop in, but his reputation as a craftsman was well-known. It was why I’d selected him over other smiths.

  I extended my hand. He clasped it hard enough to break bones, but then backed off. “See you soon. Or not.” He laughed uproariously, clearly convinced he’d seen the last of me because the dragon would rather immolate himself than part with any of his precious treasure.

  I strode away, determined to walk a while before I teleported back to my cottage. The fucking place had turned into a three-ring circus, complete with dragons, since Rowan and I returned from Midgard. She was picky about her name, and I was proud of how she’d stood up to Ysien earlier when he’d insisted on calling her Runa.

  I understood. Names offered power. If an enemy didn’t have her true name, it gave her a slight advantage. Goddess knew, we needed all the help we could get. After an hour or so, I summoned magic and rode it to my cottage, hoping I’d return in time to catch Rowan before she teleported back to Earth. She might be conflicted about me, but I didn’t share her ambivalence. She was the only woman for me, and I’d wait lifetimes for her if need be.

  I planned things so I emerged about two hundred paces from my cottage.

  Dragons were there. A bunch of them. What the unholy hell? They’d already been here today. And left. I’d assumed they’d remain gone, but assumptions were like assholes. Everyone had at least one. Back to the dragons. They were so big, it made counting them difficult. If there were two or three of a particular color—and one moved—I wasn’t sure if I’d counted him or another one. Or neither.

  Regardless, a whole lot of dragons bugled and trumpeted and flew about and landed, with Rowan in the middle of them. She wasn’t aware I’d returned, and it offered me a quiet moment to drink her in. Gods, she’s lovely with her masses of red-gold hair and golden eyes. Tall and well-built, she looks every inch her Celtic heritage. Or she would if she wore fancy garments. Patched clothes hung from her hips and shoulders. A long, black skirt, colorful tunic, and lace-up leather boots covered her body, but an inner light shone through so brilliantly she could
have been garbed in sackcloth and ashes.

  With Rowan, no one ever noticed her clothes.

  The distinctive feel of her magic zapped me, followed by the scents of vanilla, mint, and amber. “Bjorn!” Her musical voice crossed the clearing to where I lurked on its edge. At least she was welcoming me as an ally. When I’d left a couple of hours before, she’d been relieved to see me go.

  Judging from her voice, she was clutching the end of a dangerously frayed rope. It didn’t surprise me. Things hadn’t gone all that well between her and Ysien, one of the dragon leaders, earlier today. I could only imagine her annoyance when the flight showed back up.

  I hurried forward and got swept into another combat exercise. They’re not my favorite. I’m far from a warrior, never mind Nidhogg’s campaign to turn me into one. I have gotten better at ducking and weaving and warding myself while I chuck magic about.

  Better, not excellent.

  We’d already had one practice session today. Damn dragons. They’re born fighters. Guess they couldn’t wait to return for round two. I have to admit I enjoyed the fuck out of flying. If we could have more training sessions that included me on top of a dragon, I’d feel differently about them.

  Rowan’s magic slammed into me. It was always a shock how well-matched our power was. I’ve never experienced its like. It was like putting two and two together and getting fifty. Or a hundred. Or a thousand. The experience of being joined with her that way held a rough intimacy all its own. One that inflamed my senses and brought out the warrior side I was certain I didn’t possess.

  She and I fought and parried against dragons who took turns pretending to attack us from the ground and the air. “Flying isn’t fair,” I shouted at a green fellow painting the ground with fire.

  “War isn’t fair,” he yelled back in between gouts of flame.

  “Yeah, neither is life,” I muttered. I’m sure he heard me, but he was too busy threading fire close enough to keep me nimble, but not so near as to damage me—unless I was really stupid.