Dragon’s Heir: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  “Goddess be damned,” Rowan yelled. “The maze is moving.”

  “Good news,” Hel shouted back. “Means it’s illusion.”

  “And bad news,” I muttered. “Those are a bitch to counteract.”

  Chapter Nine, Rowan

  I’d keyed power into a particular part of the labyrinth when it slithered away from me. At first, I was convinced I was seeing things, but the second time it happened couldn’t have been coincidental. That was when I shouted a warning. I was still steeped in outrage over the dead we’d transported out of the cave. Had Odin known he’d assigned his subjects to what amounted to a suicide mission?

  If it had been Gwydion or Andraste, the answer could have been yes. They were warriors, immersed in battle strategy. Collateral damage meant nothing to them.

  Meanwhile, the baby had grown. Something about Hel’s assertion his grandfather would have loved him coupled with the bodies in the cave might be behind it. Or maybe they were totally unrelated. Hard to tell with these things, plus I’m scarcely an expert on being pregnant.

  The maze had shifted once again. No way all those channels could be real. The ground we stood upon would have collapsed forthwith. I experimented with looking through my third eye. After a couple of tries where I varied the wavelength, I could see differences in the network shooting off in all directions.

  Bjorn wouldn’t like my next suggestion, but I didn’t see any help for it. “Look at them through your psychic vision,” I said. “It shows which are real. We need to jump into one and follow it to—”

  “Fuck, no, you’re not doing that,” Bjorn snapped.

  “But how will we know where they’re coming from if we don’t?” I retorted.

  “Ye’re not putting the babe at risk,” Hel told me.

  “For Christ fucking sake. Dragon babies are indestructible. If Ceridwen could have rid herself of me, she would have. And I’m certain she tried—many times.”

  Hel curled one big hand around my upper arm. “Monsters could remove the child from your body, raise him steeped in darkness.”

  I grimaced, appalled by her implication. “Just what are you thinking I’d be doing? Standing by while they stole my son. No fucking way.”

  “As a compromise”—Bjorn stepped between us—“we have a good visual on at least one of the conduits. It may be a minor one, but I say we seal it.”

  “They’ll just build more. It’s why we have to know where they’re originating from,” I told him. I was tired. Arguing among ourselves was an energy drain I didn’t need.

  “I don’t believe they can construct more channels without Loki,” Bjorn answered.

  “Aye, and without Cadir too,” Hel said.

  They raised a valid point. The two primary sorcerers were out of the picture. For now. Not that Cadir would rise from the dead, but Loki was still a player—just not right now. It was good enough for me. I borrowed liberally from Bjorn, retreated to my psychic view of the maze, and fired destructive magic into its heart. Bjorn joined me. Hel did too. Among the three of us, it didn’t take long. As we nuked the real part of the labyrinth, the illusory parts went up in little puffs of noxious smelling smoke.

  I was breathing hard from the effort of channeling so much power. And I’d been half expecting more of the undead to storm our position, but none showed up. Had they been linked to Bjarke and felt him disintegrate? They couldn’t have felt him die. He’d already been there and done that.

  About the only dead-but-not I knew much about were vampires. They’ve been around forever, but their ranks didn’t really swell until the Breaking made their lives easier. Before that, they kept a fairly low profile. The advent of the Internet—where all someone had to do was google how to kill them—had a dampening effect on their nocturnal wanderings. Didn’t take much, not really, to get rid of them. But it required proximity. Beheading was effective. Or a silver stake through the heart.

  Yeah. See. Proximity. Magic from a distance wouldn’t accomplish either task. Basically, I avoided them. They reek of rot, and they’ve always creeped me out. Meanwhile, the dirt hiding the underground channels was falling in. Bjorn grabbed my arm and tugged me briskly to one side.

  He waved a hand in front of my face. “Rowan?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I got lost thinking about vampires.”

  Hel crooked two fingers in the universal sign against evil and hissed. “Och, they’re far worse than the Draugar.”

  We retreated a few more meters from where the cliff had blown outward. “Explain.” I circled one hand in a come-along motion.

  “Explain what?” Hel drew her brows together.

  I extended my fingers and counted off on them. “Lots of undead things. For one, vampires. For another Draugar. Number three are the warriors running around Valhalla. Number four, the Riders in the Wild Hunt. And then there are ghosts that got stuck where they died on Midgard. For some reason, they can’t move on. Beyond those, I’m certain Arawn has a few problems in his care, or maybe more than a few.”

  “Had,” Hel corrected me. “As I understand things, the Ninth Gate was demolished, and whoever Arawn wished to corral is long gone.”

  “The Hunt are handpicked warriors from the dead who ended up in Valhalla,” Bjorn said.

  I didn’t even bother to mute the snort that ripped through me. “Really? If they’re the cream that rose to the top, I’d hate to meet those who didn’t make the cut.”

  “Ye just did,” Hel pointed out. “Bjarke told us he applied and was turned down.”

  “But didn’t he live in your domain?” I asked.

  “Eventually,” Hel replied. “He began in Valhalla and was such an annoyance, Odin shunted him my way.”

  “Moving on.” Bjorn’s tone was brisk. “Vampires are unique to Midgard. They don’t live elsewhere, and—”

  “I know about them,” I broke in. “They make new vampires when they feed from humans. I’m not totally clear on the exact process, but they drain them until they’re mostly dead and then offer them vamp blood to drink. It resurrects them.”

  “Aye, but they can feed and kill and not bother augmenting their ranks,” Hel told me. “In truth, they prefer it. Less competition for food. Some of them keep a stable of humans and animals. They drink from them, but not to the point of death. It’s rather akin to keeping food in a cupboard. ’Tis there at the ready, and ye doona have to hunt it down every time.”

  “Ewwww.” A shudder ran through me. I hadn’t heard about that little wrinkle.

  “The Draugar were truly wicked men, right?” Bjorn angled a glance Hel’s way.

  She nodded. “Aye. Women too, and they doona care for being contained. I believed I had that niggling problem covered. Apparently, I haven’t looked in on them in far too long.”

  “You’re in good company,” I muttered, thinking about Arawn and his Ninth Gate problem.

  “’Tisn’t an excuse. Eventually, I shall round them back up, but ’twill take a long while I fear.”

  “Mostly, those in Valhalla behave themselves,” Bjorn said.

  Hel laughed. “Aye because the rejects head my way.”

  I considered the information. “Next question. It appears we’re facing an army of the dead. What’s the best approach? For vampires, I’ve always dealt with them one by one. We need something quicker, more efficient.”

  “I’m not certain that’s the whole of it,” Bjorn said.

  “What do you mean?” I cast a questioning look his way.

  “The outer borderworlds have always been a slagheap for undesirables, those who had no place in any other world. But those consigned there were still very much alive. Many are immortal.”

  Breath hissed from my lungs as the scope of the problem expanded exponentially. “You’re suggesting that while Loki and Cadir may have been the generals, they had others more than willing to do their bidding?”

  “Exactly,” Bjorn said. “Others who are far more than shades. The dead can cause disruption, but their attention spans are
miniscule.”

  “Verra true,” Hel chimed in. “Without direction they lose focus.”

  “Direction provided by the living,” I mumbled and rolled my shoulders back. “Nothing for it but to go have a look ourselves.”

  “’Tis a nice theory,” Hel began when a burst of light caught the edges of my vision. The unmistakable scents of dragon—herbs and hot baked clay—blasted me.

  Bjorn wrapped an arm around my shoulders and turned us so we faced a fire-rimmed gateway. I girded myself for two furious dragons. What I got was three. Dewi flew through, followed by Zelli and Quade.

  Dewi thumped down so close the ground shook and a fine cloud of dust surrounded us. I figured she’d yell at me. Instead, she snared Hel with her whirling eyes and said, “I expected better from you.”

  “What, precisely, do ye mean?” The Norse goddess of the dead stood tall. Her head reached the bottom of the dragon’s jaws.

  “Running off with the Dragon Mage, the Dragon Heir, and their unborn child. No one knew where ye’d gone, and—”

  “Tracking us with magic was simple enough,” I interrupted her diatribe, not caring about being rude.

  “Aye, ’twas simple because your hatchling emits enough power to light worlds,” Zelli snarled around a mouthful of teeth.

  “Ye were extremely fortunate others dinna reach you afore us,” Quade bellowed, sounding just as put out as the other two dragons.

  I clasped both hands over my belly, shocked by how fast the baby was growing. Trapped between indignation—because no one seemed to believe in my ability to exercise common sense—and worry I was underplaying the objective dangers, words didn’t jump to my command.

  “We have discussed this—” Dewi began.

  My tongue untied itself. “If by this, you mean my baby—”

  “Our baby,” Bjorn reminded me.

  “Yeah. Our baby. Anyway, I refuse to be bound by any discussion that didn’t involve me—and Bjorn.” My gaze swept the group; I did my best to project defiance. Crap. Why did they all feel the need to treat me like I was ten years old?

  Dewi tapped my chest with a bright red talon. “We have discussed this,” she repeated, “and ye will hear me out.”

  “Depends on what you have to say,” I told her.

  “We shall go to Fire Mountain,” she steamrolled right along.

  “Nope. Not going back there. Too close to Mother for one thing, and you’re harboring ideas about shackling me in some cave until the baby is born.”

  Zelli lowered her head until she was at eye level with me. “Ye will listen until Dewi is done. Ye wish us to treat you as an equal? Then act like one.”

  I cringed. I’d been a brat, but I was angry. No one had any rights over my body—except me.

  “We hold concerns about your youngling,” Dewi went on. “He commands strong magic, and he will be a liability until he’s born. At least then ’twill be simpler to build protections around him.”

  I was actually biting my tongue. Once I tasted blood, I backed off, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “If by build protections, you mean sequestering him in Fire Mountain, I’ll never agree.”

  “Nor will I,” Bjorn said.

  I cringed again. Why did I keep bypassing his role in this whole thing? “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “It’s all right,” he spoke low into my ear. “But we do need to hear their idea.”

  “Finally.” Quade puffed a very small cloud of steam our way, letting Bjorn know that forgiveness for our moral slippage was possible.

  “I get a say.” Hel nodded briskly. “After all, ’tis my grandchild we’re discussing.”

  “Aye, and ye’re who crafted the harebrained scheme of running directly into danger, Grannie,” Dewi shot back.

  I raised my hand, palm facing out. “She may have suggested going to Cadir’s lair, but it was a solid idea. Bjorn and I wouldn’t have agreed, otherwise.”

  “Not the point,” Dewi said. “Ye will come to Fire Mountain and soak in the magic of our most sacred pool. It will encourage yon hatchling to emerge. Once he is with us, we shall determine…what happens next.”

  The studied pause between the words determine and what bothered me. “You’re not telling me—us—everything.”

  “What she isn’t saying”—Bjorn’s voice was deep, steady—“is she doesn’t know if our son will be a shapeshifter. If he has a dragon form, it will provide a number of natural protections.”

  I shifted my gaze to the ground in front of me and did my damnedest to ward my thoughts. I’d been warming to the idea of my son in my arms, his little mouth attached to my breast. How would I cuddle a creature with scales? Would it nurse? Or would it be born with teeth and start right in on meat?

  A soothing cooing filled my mind, and I got hold of my runaway emotions. The child had sensed my distress and was doing his best to comfort me. “No, little one,” I sent inward in the dragons’ tongue. “I am fine. Grow strong within me.”

  “We shall discuss this,” Bjorn told the dragons. “You will offer us privacy while we do.”

  He hooked an arm beneath mine. We walked a few meters away before his magic surrounded us. “What bothers you most?” he asked without preamble.

  “Giving up control.”

  He nodded. “Aye, I’d have bet guilders on that answer.” He placed a hand over my stomach, and I felt the prickle of Norse magic—briny and thick with herbs and honey—as Bjorn got to know our son. His mouth curved into a soft smile.

  I wanted to ask what pleased him, but I could wait until he was done.

  Fingers still splayed across the taut dome of my belly, he raised his gaze until it met mine and nodded his head. “Our son likes Dewi’s proposal. He wishes to emerge—so he can fight in the war that’s nearly upon us.”

  Alarm ratcheted through me. “But he can’t. He’s too young. He needs to have a childhood, like you did. Nothing like mine.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t seem to stop.

  Bjorn moved his hand until he cupped the side of my face. “Ro. Our child is more dragon than anything else. Dragons are warriors.”

  “But we’re half dragon,” I protested.

  “It’s different for him. Not sure I completely understand why, but he inherited dragon blood from both of us. You and me, we had only one dragon parent. And he knows about who he is already. Ceridwen made certain you didn’t. And Hel hid the truth from me.”

  I closed my teeth over my lower lip. “This is so hard. I want to do the right thing. He’s safe where he is.” I patted my stomach.

  “Is he?” Bjorn asked. “Once Zelli mentioned his magic, I took a few steps back and tried to view it as an outsider might.”

  “And?” I crooked two fingers.

  “He does shine brightly. Very brightly.”

  “How will him being born change that?”

  “It won’t,” Bjorn said, “but we can teach him to cloak himself.”

  My shoulders had slumped. I straightened them, feeling acutely out of my element. “What do you think we should do?”

  Bjorn shook his head. “That question is yours to answer. I will support you either way.”

  “Either way being we go Dewi’s magical route, or let the pregnancy proceed as it would anyway?” When he nodded, I glanced down at myself. My breasts were swollen, so was my stomach. Every time I looked at myself, my body had changed.

  The cooing, chirping noises from within me intensified again.

  “What are you thinking?” Bjorn asked.

  I smiled wanly. “You could find out easily enough.”

  “Aye, but I’d rather have you tell me.”

  “Not sure it’s just one thing. My mind is zinging off in a whole lot of directions, but the item that keeps popping to the top is maybe my obsessive desire for our son to have a fairy-tale childhood isn’t realistic. Maybe it’s not something he’d want. If he’s mostly dragon, he won’t be interested in toy trucks or playing ball games.”

  “Might be a good thing,” Bjor
n said, “since we scarcely lead fairy-tale lives.”

  “Maybe someday.”

  “Aye, but not for a long while, I fear.”

  He didn’t remind me about the ragtag army massing on the outer borderworlds. He didn’t have to. Absent oversight from Loki and Cadir, they were sure to run off the rails, and not in good ways. Castoffs, throw-outs, the batch of human and magical trash had nothing to lose.

  And a legion of dead champing at the bit to do their bidding.

  “All right,” I said, proud my voice was steady, “I’m ready to accede to Dewi’s plan.”

  He brushed a thumb across my cheekbone. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Gratitude swamped me, made me dizzy. My throat thickened and my eyes stung. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Funny. I feel the same way about you.” He swept an arm downward, and the magical curtain dissipated. Bending forward, he kissed my forehead before stepping away. The gesture was so tender and so sweet, it made the lump in my throat worse. I swallowed around it, determined not to cry.

  The dragons had moved so close they stood practically on top of us. “Good choice,” Dewi purred, if something that big and imposing could be said to sound anything like a cat. I thought about Mort, and wanted to go home. Not to Fire Mountain, but home.

  “We can do that once the child is here,” Zelli told me, proving privacy and dragons were incompatible bedfellows. A cushion of familiar magic swept me onto her back, and the deeply fissured earth of the borderworld fell away, replaced by the filtered light of the dragons’ journey tunnel.

  We held silence for a while before I said, “We were never in any danger, but we found one of Odin’s teams.”

  “Aye, all dead. I saw it in your mind. I am sorry, but I fear the other two groups fared equally badly.”

  “I already figured that out. Um, this immersion thing, how will it work?”

  Zelli nodded solemnly. “I figured ye’d ask. The hatchling, he’s growing far quicker than any of us believed he would, and—”

  “Do you know why?” I cut in.

  “Aye. He senses he is needed. We’ve had similar occurrences with some of our eggs. ’Twas how we discovered the pool hurries things along. Remember the shelf where the god of the winds found Dewi’s egg?”