Dragon’s Heir: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  I was done being quiet. “Excuse me,” I began. “Before you deploy dwarves anywhere, the last batch of evil we battled on Midgard included dwarves. There were also dead sprites, a dead worm-like monster, and huge bats.”

  I may as well have announced Odin’s mother fucked donkeys. Every scrap of chatter died away. Every eye skewered me.

  “Not possible.” A dwarf drew himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much more than a meter. “Ye should be flogged for spreading lies.” He was garbed in dark-brown leather pants and a leather vest. His chest was bare beneath the vest. White hair fluffed around his head, and his eyes glittered like cut sapphires.

  Bjorn stood next to me and bowed to the dwarf. “Well met, Gramoli.”

  “Master Sorcerer.” Gramoli bowed stiffly back.

  Bjorn circled the table until he stood next to the dwarf. “Please,” he invited, “cast a truth net.”

  “Ye’ve never given me reason to doubt you,” Gramoli muttered.

  “Then you will hear me when I say Rowan speaks true. I saw dead dwarves with my own eyes. At least four. They were part of the enemy who attacked witches living in the Celts’ old stronghold beneath Ben Nevis.”

  “Has darkness invaded Svartalfheim?” Odin cried.

  Gramoli turned to face Odin and bowed so low, his white beard touched the ground. When he straightened he said, “Not that we ken, my liege.”

  Bjorn inclined his head toward Odin. “As you well know, much of the surface of Svartalfheim is uninhabited, sire. The dwarves dwell in caves.”

  “I see the problem,” Odin muttered. He extended an arm, index finger pointing at Gramoli’s chest. “When ye return, ye will cease mining for however long it takes to do a thorough search for wickedness that may have invaded your world.”

  “Aye, sire. And if we find aught that doesna belong, we shall kill it.”

  The ravens must have approved because they broke into a stream of cawing. Odin batted them off his shoulders, and they flew around the room.

  “We are done for today,” Odin announced.

  “No. We are not.” I projected my voice to make certain I didn’t miss anyone.

  He pushed heavily to his feet. “Ye’re more trouble than that slutty mother of yours. What is it this time?”

  I rolled my shoulders back and stood tall, facing him. Odin didn’t scare me. Maybe he should have, but he didn’t. Ever since I’d outfoxed his Wild Hunt, I’d grown cocky. “While I agree with shutting off the gates at the far end so no more evil can enter Earth, uh Midgard, it will take a long time. Months, if not years. Meanwhile, Midgard may well crumple under the strain.”

  I stopped to take a breath. “You overfly it with your Riders. You’ve seen how bad things are. How mortals have barricaded themselves into rubble piles. They’re starving to death, just like the witches were before we found food in Inverlochy Castle and began growing crops to take up the slack.”

  Odin bared his teeth at me. “Next, ye’ll be asking me to provide handouts, set up a welfare system for the poor mortals who were nearly the death of Midgard even afore the Breaking.”

  I winced. What he said was true. Humans were a bunch of shortsighted fuckers who’d been intent on draining Earth down to fumes if there was a buck to be made.

  “That world is gone,” I said. “Long gone. We have to deal with what’s left.”

  “Deal with it, how?” He made hurry-up motions with one huge hand. Damn he was big.

  “First off, we must create a permanent seal for the Breaking site. Bjorn and I worked out a stopgap—”

  “It’s gone by now,” Bjorn cut in. “Never was meant to last.” He strode back around the table until he stood next to me again.

  I nodded. “Once we have a permanent fix that will shutter the Breaking site, we can deal with whatever has already beaten its way through.”

  I was on a roll, and I kept going, afraid if I stopped, Odin might order me from his halls. “The way I see it,” I went on, “this must be a three-pronged approach. Your outer borderworlds barricade plus plugging the Breaking site and doing a search and destroy for remaining evil.”

  Dusting my hands together, I smiled at him to forestall the predictable: him calling me an upstart bitch and ignoring everything I’d lined out. He narrowed his eye at me. One of the ravens circled back, chittering double speed.

  Odin’s expression shifted, developed an appraising aspect. Magic prickled as the smell of the sea thickened around me. Too late to ward myself. What the fuck was Odin about? I wasn’t especially worried. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d had plenty of opportunity, but Bjorn apparently didn’t share my sanguine assessment.

  He raised a hand. Power shot from it forming a noose around the flow of Odin’s magic. “Leave her be. She is mine.”

  I wanted to drop my head in my hands. “For the love of all that’s holy,” I shouted. “Both of you, stop. Odin’s not going to hurt me, and I don’t require a knight protector.”

  “Smart wench.” Odin offered as close to a smile as he ever came. “Pregnant wench. May I offer my congratulations.”

  Nidhogg lumbered close; magic probed me again. Different this time. Dragon magic. Buckets of steam followed until I was blanketed in mist. Realization socked me in the guts. I carried his grandson. Batting mist aside, I took a couple of steps back.

  “Do not even think about ordering me to sequester myself in a tower—” I began.

  The Norse dragon bugled laughter. “Wouldna dream of it. Young dragons can fight by the time they’re a few weeks old.”

  I reflexively splayed a hand over my concave belly. “Not my son,” I hissed. “He’s going to have a normal childhood, goddammit.” Protectiveness enveloped me like an out-of-control fire. I would fight for my child, offer him everything I’d been deprived of. Even if it meant raising him on a borderworld with only him, me, and Bjorn.

  Nope. That wouldn’t work. He’d need other children to play with. There weren’t any. Not on Fire Mountain, nor anywhere else, either. I battled a deeply sinking feeling. Why have a baby at all if his existence was marked by strife from his birth?

  I felt more than saw Zelli move close with Dewi right behind her. Being encircled by dragons is claustrophobic as hell. Bjorn and I stood at the bottom of an abyss surrounded by scales and coated in steam.

  “His upbringing will be normal—for a young dragon,” Nidhogg said.

  His words did not make me feel better, but I’ve never been one to shy away from conflict. “I get it that he has dragon blood from both sides, but he also has Norse and Celtic genes,” I pointed out.

  Nidhogg’s jaws lolled into a dragon grin. “Aye, child. All of the above. He will carry unimaginable power.”

  “We must raise him on Fire Mountain,” Dewi said, “to ensure he has everything he requires.”

  “No.” Bjorn’s voice cut into the argument I was about to float. “This is our child. Mine and Rowan’s, and we shall do what we believe best for him.”

  I raked my hands through my hair. Fingers snagged on my mostly undone braids. Weariness racked me. The baby was barely more than a collection of cells, and we were already haggling over his future.

  Meanwhile, Patrick and Hilda had fought their way past dragon legs and flanked me. Both witches hugged me. “I’m happy for you,” Hilda whispered into my ear.

  Hel slithered through a gap between Zelli and Dewi. Tears shone in her eyes as she hugged first Bjorn and then me. I made a feeble attempt at diplomacy. “Thank all of you for your kind wishes. They’re overwhelming. I’m certain we’ll, erm, figure things out.”

  “Best to have the fine points tacked down ahead of time,” Nidhogg said. At least he’d quit blowing steam.

  “Absolutely.” Hel leaned into him, proud grandmother-to-be that she was.

  I thanked my lucky stars—and the not-so-lucky ones too—my own mother wasn’t in a position to weigh in. Ceridwen would have had ideas of her own, but I felt certain she’d have sided with Dewi, both being Celts
and all.

  I’d been near the end of my tether before the topic of Dragon-baby showed up. I had to find a way out of Odin’s halls before I gave up and teleported away, and the lot of them added rude to my long list of failings.

  “Get on.” Zelli’s words were followed by a jolt of dragon magic that carried me astride her.

  I didn’t ask where we were going. I didn’t care. Away from Valhalla would do it. “What about the witches?”

  “Nidhogg said he would return them.”

  The walls of Odin’s meeting chamber developed the liquid aspect I associated with teleporting. When the mists around me cleared, we were in front of Bjorn’s cottage. I’d have liked nothing better than to let myself in and immerse myself in his lore collection—or fall on my face and sleep for a week. But people were lined up outside his door. I got to twenty and quit counting.

  Midgard facing annihilation hadn’t been a good enough reason for Odin to relieve Bjorn of his master sorcerer duties. I jumped down from Zelli and pasted a smile on my face. “Bjorn will be here soon. Meanwhile, I’m happy to offer my assistance.”

  Maybe I have a trustworthy face, but voices blasted me with a variety of problems. I was knee-deep working with a woman whose healing spells had gone awry when Bjorn showed up astride Quade.

  “Thanks.” He blew me a quick kiss before jumping down from the dragon and settling in to work. Neither of us would get to do anything else until we’d made a dent in the throng surrounding his cottage.

  Chapter Two, Bjorn

  I watched Rowan’s form shimmer to nothingness as she teleported away from Valhalla. Gratitude surged she hadn’t refused when Zelli told her they were leaving. I understood the wisdom of moving Rowan to a less charged situation. She’d morphed into her irritable side, squared off against Nidhogg, and told him she wasn’t about to spend her pregnancy moldering in a tower.

  After that, Dewi had announced our child would be raised in Fire Mountain. It’s tough to say no to dragonkind. For one thing, they aren’t used to it. For another, viewing dragons with reverence is almost hardwired into my makeup.

  Good thing Rowan wasn’t laboring under that delusion. Dealing with her dragon father, who’d been twisted by evil almost to his bones, probably contributed to her mindset.

  I’d had my jaws clamped so hard during Rowan’s exchange with Nidhogg, I’d fully expected to hear the crack of breaking teeth. She had no way of knowing, but her outrage had been misdirected. I was who wanted to lock her away, keep her safe while our child grew inside her. One of the deserted borderworlds would be perfect, but I was being a fool.

  She couldn’t leave the Nine Worlds. Not now when their future was so uncertain. Neither could I.

  Quade nudged my back with his huge snout. Heat from his scales was welcome in Odin’s chilly halls. He was urging me to leave, but I had something to do before we followed Rowan and Zelli.

  Odin and Thor were deep in conversation, heads bent together as they stood at the far end of the room. Odin had announced the meeting was over a few minutes before, and it was clear he’d moved on after lining out a strategy—one he’d clearly come up with on his own absent involvement from anyone. I might live in the Nine Worlds, but I bide in Vanaheim. I’d steered as clear of Odin, Asgard, and the Aesir as I could, only showing up when summoned to work some strain of magic or other.

  I had no idea why Odin had gone to all the trouble to summon everyone to Valhalla. There’d scarcely been any discussion about the problem at hand. If Rowan hadn’t had the courage to forward her opinions, there’d have been none. Small groups formed throughout the room as representatives from the various worlds crafted plans to carry out Odin’s directives.

  Patrick and Hilda were presumably on their way back to Midgard, courtesy of a dragon-powered teleport spell. They lacked the magic to travel to the far reaches of the universe where the outer borderworlds were. They might be useful convincing some remaining bands of mortals magic wasn’t all bad, though.

  If they could get close enough. I’ve spent time among mortals. They had a way of glomming onto a particular belief and clinging to it no matter what. Once they took a stand, it was very difficult to get through to them. I could only imagine how they interpreted the Breaking. The years since then had turned from difficult to nearly impossible as things like canned goods and other foodstuffs first ran low and then disappeared altogether.

  Humans are a clever lot. They may have a whole lot of irons in the fire the rest of us don’t know about, but I doubt it. They’d need raw materials, and there weren’t any.

  I worked my way to where Nidhogg and Hel stood next to one another and inclined my head. There wasn’t a simple way to say what I had in mind, so I grabbed the point and went for it.

  “I appreciate that you will be grandparents to Rowan’s and my child, but until very recently, I had no idea I was related to either one of you.”

  “Aye, and we’re verra sorry about that—” Hel began.

  “Nay, we are not,” Nidhogg spoke over her.

  “Everything happens in its own time,” Dewi tossed in from where she still stood on Nidhogg’s other side.

  I considered telling her she had zero stake in this discussion. No blood ties to Rowan or me or the babe. But if I did that, she’d probably play the Celt card and claim kinship bonds with Rowan, courtesy of Ro’s mother being Ceridwen.

  “Regardless,” I forged ahead, determined to get my message across, “these next few months will be hard enough without the bunch of you working your asses off to manipulate our baby’s fate until it falls into a pattern of your liking.”

  “I shall consult our seers,” Dewi said smugly. “They will know where your child should spend his first months.”

  I tilted my head back and looked up at her. “There’s no way you will take this in the spirit it’s offered, but I don’t care what the blind seers have to say. All of you have been clear the child can’t be harmed. Since that’s true, it won’t matter where Rowan and I choose to raise him. Or how.”

  I expected fire and ash to rain down on me. Instead, Nidhogg lowered his head until it was close to level with mine. “Some children merely pass through your care. They are not meant to remain by your side. This hatchling is not usual for dragons.”

  “Or for Norse gods, either,” Hel spoke up.

  “How can you tell?” I looked from the dragons to Hel and back to the dragons.

  “We sense its power,” Nidhogg said.

  I looked askance at him. “I sense its presence,” I said slowly. “It’s far too soon to make any other predictions.”

  “Fire Mountain is by far the preferred location for Geir,” Dewi said.

  It took me a moment to understand she’d named my son. Annoyance soured my stomach. “Rowan and I shall choose our child’s name. And where he is raised. None of this is up for discussion.”

  “But ’tis his true name,” Dewi argued. “Much as Runa is Rowan’s.”

  “We shall speak of this again,” Nidhogg said in his best negotiator’s voice. I recognized it from when he’d assigned me spy duties in Midgard.

  I shook my head. “We shall not. The topic is closed.” A bevy of words jostled for freedom from the confines of my throat. I kept them contained. It wouldn’t do any good to tell Hel and Nidhogg I didn’t especially trust either of them because they’d been so laggardly revealing themselves as my parents.

  Coiling air into a cushion I rode it to Quade’s back. He understood, and the walls of Valhalla fell away replaced by an unbelievable crowd of customers outside my cottage.

  “The other dragons. They’re not necessarily offering bad advice.” Quade’s deep voice rumbled into my mind.

  “This is all so new, I’m not a good judge of anything right now,” I told him before I jumped down and waded into the crowd. Rowan was already hard at work. This wasn’t the type of thing she normally did, but magic was magic, and hers was strong.

  Every once in a while, I glanced her way but never for v
ery long. She was so beautiful, she addled my thoughts. Long red hair fluffed around her in luxuriant curls, and her golden eyes were pinched with worry and concentration. A long black skirt hugged her slender hips and long legs, and a many-times-mended blue tunic swathed her upper body concealing the curves of her breasts. Nearly as tall as me, she was strong and well-muscled. I craved the feel of her in my arms, but we had work to do.

  Hours passed before she and I finished with the last of my clients. The dragons were long gone, but I was certain they’d return if we went anywhere. My collection of magical knives and swords was right where I’d left them next to my front door. Somehow, I suspected no one could steal them. They probably wouldn’t suffer another’s hand without making things damned unpleasant for the would-be thief.

  Gathering up the hardware, I followed Rowan and carried the blades inside. Once I’d found a temporary home for the spelled metal weapons, I fell into a chair at the table. She was already seated. “Are you always this busy?” she asked, followed by, “Do you have a Closed sign we could post?”

  “No to both. It’s been like this for the last fortnight.”

  “Any idea why?” She furled both russet brows.

  “Not really. I’ve wondered if it has something to do with the rotten places in Midgard spreading to Vanaheim, though.”

  Rowan supported her head on an upraised hand. “That’s my take on it, and I don’t like it. Means we have even less time than I figured we did. What the hell is Odin about with his outer borderworld crap? That plan could take years to implement. And why bother to import all those people for his big-ass meeting? He didn’t ask for anyone’s opinion.”

  “I’ve never been part of any of his council gatherings before,” I told her. “That one with the Celts was the first time I’d actually been inside Valhalla.”

  “Mmph. I know even less about Norse history than I do about Celtic.”

  I got back up and tottered over to where I keep mugs and tea herbs, intent on making us something to drink. Rowan joined me and cut cheese and rolls into bite-sized bits. “I just ate in Valhalla,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t be hungry again, but I am.”