Dragons and Mages: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  He was really full of himself today, puffing up like a frog with his own self-confidence. She bit her tongue.

  She couldn’t wait to get away from the meeting when it finally came to an end. But when she approached the ship, she found Ostryg was waiting for her, carrying his sea chest with him.

  “I’m sorry I attacked you last night,” Dyrfinna said, first thing.

  It wasn’t so much that she was sorry. She just considered apologizing the honorable thing to do.

  “Well yeah, about that,” Ostryg said. “I didn’t really appreciate your high-handed attitude you’ve had toward me all these years, just because you want to take my girlfriend away from me, or just because you’re jealous of us, or whatever. It doesn’t matter to me what you think, really. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going elsewhere to lend my expertise to a better commander.”

  “Um, okay.”

  “Save it. I’m tired of your underhanded snark. You build up all this anger until you explode and go after people with your sword to kill them.”

  “I already apologized for that.”

  “Yeah, and it really came from the heart,” he sneered.

  Dyrfinna shrugged. “I am what I am.”

  “See? There you go again, acting like you don’t care.” Ostryg shifted his sea chest and flexed one of his hands. “So I’m leaving. I have a new job now.”

  “A new job? Doing what?”

  “I’m going to be working with Jarl Sinkr as adjutant,” he said proudly. “You know, like an aide de camp.”

  That sucked the breath from her lungs like a song-spell. She blinked, found her breath, and glared at him. “Go along, then. You deserve each other.”

  “And you can stuff your snark where the sun don’t shine.”

  Skeggi had joined them. With a shake of his head, he set a hand on Ostryg’s shoulder. “You’re casting your lot into a place where it shouldn’t go.”

  “Do you think I’m going to listen to you, Mr. Moral Compass? You’re not always right.” Ostryg shrugged him off, picked up his sea chest, and headed over to Sinkr’s ship.

  Dyrfinna shrugged and climbed aboard her ship. So many feelings churned in her stomach, but she stuffed them all away in the locked place with the rest of the things she had no control over and had no energy to deal with right now.

  Her fighters had been busy putting their things in order and preparing to set sail. But when they saw her swing her legs over the side and hop into her ship, they all came over and patted her back or embraced her, and they thanked her for what she’d done.

  “We have a different view of Sinkr than your exalted papa does,” one of her soldiers said. “A boot in the arse for both of them.”

  “Hear, hear,” the others said.

  Dyrfinna looked her crew over. Death had claimed nineteen fighters—and, now that Ostryg had swanned away to join his new friend, she’d lost twenty. Six fighters sat in the center of the ship, too wounded to fight. However, Dyrfinna had also gained a few new shipmates. After the siege and battle, a number of fighters from other ships had joined her, being mightily impressed with her work. So, though her crew was not quite up to full strength, they weren’t too badly off.

  Then again, Dyrfinna thought, if Sinkr had been in charge of my crew, we’d all be at the bottom of the ocean, food for fishes. So things could always be worse.

  Into Glorious Battle

  The fighters were all aboard their ships. When the war-horn sounded, they launched with the rest of the fleet. Once they’d moved out from shore, the ships were arranged in order by size and might. Sinkr’s ship sat first in line with his favorites ranged around him. Dyrfinna’s ship, though a fine vessel, should have been to the front, but a loud, ringing shout from Sinkr put a stop to that. “To the rear with that one!” he yelled.

  Her crew growled. Dyrfinna shook her head, but they went to the back. She was pleased to hear some complaints from other crews, though Sinkr paid them no notice.

  The ships unfurled their banners for the queen, red flags with a dragon rampant upon them, and the air was filled with cheerful red snapping in the brisk winds.

  Once the ships were in line, the war horn sounded once again.

  Hundreds of oars dipped together into the ocean, tearing the dark waters of the fjord into milky foam, and the ships shot forward in good order, advancing in full battle array to meet King Varinn’s fleet, tall prows breaking magnificently through the waves.

  Their five red dragons circled overhead. One of the dragonriders was her papa, but he stayed toward the front of the ships, not venturing toward the back.

  Rjupa and her dragon, on the other hand, stayed exclusively with their ship and the back of the line, keeping guard, occasionally flying close to wave to Dyrfinna’s crew and blow a kiss to Skeggi. Other warriors kept jumping up to intercept her kiss and grab it out of the air before Skeggi could get it.

  Dyrfinna and Hakr stood near the front of her ship, spray breaking over them when the ship plunged down through a high wave. The ocean was a rough today, the wind high. Dyrfinna was braiding her hair to keep it out of her face during battle, as was Hakr.

  “Look at your sad braids,” he said, showing off the neat braids in his hair. “This is how a true warrior braids his hair.”

  “Oh hush. You made me lose my place.” Dyrfinna undid her sad braid and started over. “I wish we could take the fleet in behind these islands.” She tipped her head to the left at a great group of islands they passed.

  “Aye, that’s the way I would have taken,” Hakr said. “Alas, we must barrel down the middle of the ocean where everybody and his brother can spot us.”

  “Now there’s a great strategic mind at work.”

  “Hmph,” Hakr grumbled. “By Odin, how I long to teach that little rabbit turd a thing or two.”

  They had been riding over the rough seas for part of the day. “We should be getting close now,” said Hakr as the first ships rounded a point.

  Just then, halloos went up from the first ships in the line. Excitement swept over Dyrfinna, and what seemed like most of her crew jumped to their feet and looked over the sides and front of the ship to see what was going on.

  They rounded the point, one of the last to do so, and there, black on the waters, were King Varinn’s ships, all arrayed for battle, the blue flags snapping on their masts and riggings, and all six of his black dragons aloft.

  “Six dragons against our five,” Hakr said.

  “I wish I were up there to fix that,” Dyrfinna said.

  “I wish you were too,” Rjupa said as she flew past on wide dragon wings.

  “I love you!” Skeggi shouted after her.

  “I love you more!” she called back.

  Across the waves, the war horns sounded on both sides. The warriors on Dyrfinna’s ship sounded theirs, and she lifted hers to her lips and blasted it, skipping up an octave and back down. Most every horn played a different note. A wild cacophony rang over the waters, a weird howling of hundreds of horns wilding over the waves. Vikings whooped at the calls, the cheers and roars rising from every direction. Dyrfinna laughed in the wildness and glory of the barbaric noise. “Come on!” she shouted, and blasted the horn again.

  Ships shook out their banners, then leapt forward across the open water between the warring factions as the rowers dug in with their oars. Warriors leaned over the sides, brandishing their swords and axes and lances at their oncoming foes. Berserkers roared and bit their shields as they worked themselves up to fighting fury.

  Overhead, with a hard thrust of their wings, four of the red dragons sprang out from the ships to meet the five black dragons flying in at them. The dragons met over the tops of the ships with a clash of claws and scales and rolling gouts of fire.

  Dyrfinna leapt to her feet and called back to her shipmates, all faces now illuminated brightly with the fire in the sky. “We are going to go between ships, skirmishing, and support those who are failing with the fight. We will earn our glory!” She st
ruck her fist hard against her shield, and her warriors cheered and blasted their war horns. The rowers swiftly shipped the oars, and all went to the sides of their ship, standing so thick that their shields touched, enclosing the ship’s deck so the enemy would not be able to board. The ship continued gliding forward toward the fight.

  “Fight for the queen’s daughter!” Dyrfinna shouted as the air suddenly darkened with a cloud of arrows. Fighters ducked under their shields, arrows clattering everywhere around them. Somebody screamed out.

  Dyrfinna remembered her dream of Skuld, the Valkyrie who chose who died in battles. “Not today, Skuld. Not today!” she cried as her ship rammed into an enemy’s vessel and a woman with a lion painted on her shield brandished her lance at Dyrfinna.

  An enemy warrior sprang up onto the edge of his ship, balancing there. “The wrath of Thor falls like a thunderbolt from above!” he shouted—then reeled when an arrow slammed into his eye with a sickening sound. He fell hard against the side of Dyrfinna’s ship and slid into the water.

  “At them!”

  From all sides, Vikings joined the fight, and the roar of a thousand voices echoed off the mountains that edged the water.

  Hakr got to work at once. He had a long-handled hook, his favorite weapon, and whenever someone climbed onto the edge of their ship, he’d hook their legs and haul them off the enemy’s deck into the sea.

  Dyrfinna kept guard a few cubits down the edge of the ship, cutting down enemies and running them through, or bullying them back by striking them with her shield. Skeggi pushed forward, fighting to cut his way through the wall of the enemy’s shields and board their ship. He made a dent in their defenses, but Dyrfinna saw he needed help.

  She called to the berserker nearest her. “Fight with Skeggi! Help him board the enemy’s ship! When you cut your way through, we will follow.”

  He roared with a shake of his great head and rushed to Skeggi’s rescue.

  From the opposite side, somebody flung a grappling hook into her ship, trying to pull it close to board it, because the gap between that ship and hers was too wide to cross.

  Gefjun leapt over and cut the rope to the grappling hook with a sweep of her sword.

  A woman heaved another iron, which would have struck Gefjun in the head if she hadn’t dodged back in time.

  “Ooh!” she cried, furious, and cut that rope too.

  Then one of the warriors on that ship stepped back a few paces, and with a mighty rush, leaped across the space in all his war gear, and landed on the edge of Dyrfinna’s ship within a cubit of Gefjun. The man staggered, shield and sword waving wildly in the air as he fought to keep his balance. Gefjun just stepped forward and shoved him overboard with a great splash. Everybody cheered.

  Skeggi and the berserker pushed their way onto the enemy’s ship. Dyrfinna calculated swiftly, and while Skeggi had the enemies’ attention, she rushed up onto the edge of her ship and vaulted into the enemy’s ship through a break between two shields. She brought her sword down upon one of her foes as she fell, then tumbled aside and jumped to her feet. She deflected several swords with her shield, spun and cut through those two warriors, and began raining blows from her sword all around, fighting hard and cutting down the enemy where she met them. Her breaths came hard, and she shook the sweat from her eyes. The enemies she cut down fell, heels kicking, or tried to gasp out curses as they choked on their own blood, until hateful death fell over their eyes.

  Others from her crew had followed her and fought at her back, helping to protect her, for the enemy had her surrounded.

  One of the king’s warriors hurtled a great rock at her. She nearly dodged it, but it struck hard on the right side of her shield, nearly ripping it off. She crumpled over her arm, its pain so great that she was sure it was broken. The arm went limp.

  Skeggi and the berserker continued to fight their way through the enemy’s ship. With a roar the berserker swept his axe through the enemy fighters as he fought his way toward Dyrfinna, who held off fighters with her sword only, her shield arm dangling at her side with the great shield still attached. Every time it moved and swung, a great bolt of pain traveled up her arm, but she was utterly focused on her sword, with its runes flashing as she held off her enemies.

  The berserker was at her side, then Skeggi. Another roar sounded as a bunch of her friends came over the rail of the ship. The fight was sharp all around, and Dyrfinna pressed forward, her mouth open in agony, her sword arm red-hot with aches and all the shocks it had sustained through her sword. One of the enemy struck her arm with a shield right where the wolf had bitten her, and that fresh pain burst through her.

  All she could see was red.

  And her shield came up.

  And she shrilled her war-cry like a wounded hawk.

  And her sword went to work, cruel strokes coming down on helms and shoulders, or driving through chinks in their armor, and she’d have to kick that dead person away while yanking her sword free.

  The enemy fled, pitching themselves overboard as she and the berserker raged down the ship.

  They leapt overboard like rats leaving a sinking ship.

  And when they reached the end, she whipped around, looking for another to fight. But only her crew stood before her. Slowly, she came to herself and stumbled forward. Weariness and pain replaced the anger and madness she’d felt a moment before.

  Skeggi ran up and caught her arms. “We’ve cleared the deck. This ship is ours!”

  Her brain was not with her yet. Confused, she looked around her, wondering why she was on somebody else’s ship and not her own. Then she came out of her berserker trance, remembered what had happened, and she sank onto the deck, catching her breath.

  Once she’d recovered, she looked about her at the fine ship. “This is a good vessel. Look at this. If we’re going to take this ship as plunder, it’s going to need a captain.”

  Skeggi was eyeing the mast, running his hand over the ropes. “It does. Good craftsmanship here,” he said in awe.

  “I think that captain should be you,” Dyrfinna said.

  Skeggi went absolutely still. “What? I thought I heard you say something really crazy.”

  “Not crazy at all. I want you to be the captain of this.”

  Skeggi inhaled deeply, looking around him.

  “Do you want to command your own ship, Skeggi? I’m appointing you captain of this one. Spoils of war. Naturally, all onboard goods must be distributed among our fighters, as is fair in war.”

  He stared at her. Then he took in the ship, a rich fighter, a beautifully wrought ship. “Now, are you sure? This … this is a beautiful ship. My grandpa never had anything like this.”

  “I need a trustworthy sea captain to run this ship. Someone who knows what he’s doing. The ship is yours. So take it.”

  Skeggi grinned, looking around the ship again, his eyes alight. “Yes, sir!”

  Dyrfinna grinned too. “Get the grappling hooks, and bind our two ships together,” she called. “Bring Gefjun to me, quickly, so I can get back into the fight. I’ve wrecked my arm.”

  Both things were done. An eyeblink later, the first grappling hook flew into the ship and Dyrfinna felt the shock of the two ships pulling together, side by side, as somebody secured the ropes.

  The next moment, Gefjun was grumbling at her side. “For goodness’ sake, you goat-headed nitwit, get that shield off before you wreck your arm even more.”

  Dyrfinna did. She tried to lay the shield on the deck, but it wouldn’t lay flat due to about seven arrows buried in the oxhide. The shield sat up like a very odd and rickety little table.

  Gefjun wasted no time singing over her arm as she checked it for broken bones. The music enveloped Dyrfinna, a cooling relief. The sound of battle washed over from her ship, and she longed to rejoin it.

  “You’re fortunate,” Gefjun said when she’d finished. “You twisted your arm badly but there’s nothing broken. Pray it doesn’t happen a second time. Now get back into the fight. There’
s a whole bunch of idiots trying to board on the other side of your ship.”

  Dyrfinna flexed her arm. So much better. She strapped her shield back on, which hurt, but not as badly as before, and she clambered off Skeggi’s boat and leapt again into the fight.

  The conflict went on, but now with Skeggi’s ship, they had more to defend … more area to fight for. And she knew that many of the king’s fighters would recognize that ship and want to get it back.

  A king’s berserker, roaring like a wild bull, clambered over the side of her ship, hewing his way through the throng of warriors with his axe, knocking fighters down like wheat before the scythe. Dyrfinna’s warriors sprang to the ship’s defense, but the berserker was a stout man, his face and neck bright red with exertion, and he swung the axe hard without stopping.

  Hakr ran forward and met the berserker, his own battle axe swinging. He struck the berserker with such a blow on his helmet that he staggered back, stunned. Then the berserker uttered a fearful roar and plunged forward. With one swing of his axe broke through the upper part of Hakr’s shield and cut open his helmet with a sickening thud.

  Hakr fell, blood spurting.

  Dyrfinna cried out. “No!”

  Before the berserker could strike a second time, Dyrfinna ran full tilt into him, slamming her shield hard against his and shoving him back. As the berserker staggered, she flung her shield into his face, swiped up Hakr’s axe, and used both hands to swing it in a swift arc around her head. She hummed energy through her arm into the axe to make her swing true and powerful. The axe slammed down like a sledgehammer, splitting the berserker from neck to waist.

  The berserker sank to the ground in an awful pool of blood. It always stunned her how much blood one person could contain. Dyrfinna fell to her knees beside Hakr and set aside his battle axe, the bloody head of it sitting on the ground.

  “Are you hurt badly?” she asked, raising the old captain’s head onto her knee to get it out of the spreading pool of his former enemy’s hot blood.