A Fire of Roses

by Melinda R. Cordell

  A murmur went round the crowd. Dyrfinna’s knees went so weak that she was grateful to be kneeling. She bowed her head. “Thank you. Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Now. Turn the prisoners loose and give them into Dyrfinna’s custody. Dyrfinna, the prisoners will be yours to command. Lead them into war against the child killers.”

  Dyrfinna nodded.

  Skuld looked at Hedgehog. “Once you’ve given the prisoners over to Dyrfinna, send her out as quickly as possible. Nauma has raised some dragons, but she will raise an even bigger force as soon as she is able. Stop her.”

  And Skuld was gone.

  Dyrfinna blinked. Her eyes didn’t understand what had happened for a moment. But the goddess was gone. And nothing stood in the place of the old, horned dragon.

  “Commander, I need my ship,” Dyrfinna told Hedgehog. “I pledge my solemn word that I won’t attack King Varinn’s army, for I have sworn fealty to the king. Everything that I command, I want to turn against Nauma and her forces.”

  Hedgehog nodded, her dark eyes twinkling. “Under normal circumstances, I would say absolutely na. But right now, in light o’ what just ’appened, I say, Odin’s wings cover ye, and may the gods bless yer endeavors.”

  Hedgehog and Dyrfinna gripped hands. Then Hedgehog commanded, “Sletr, take Dyrfinna ta the prisoners and release them inta ’er custody. Give ’er back ’er ships and supplies, and allow ’er safe passage out o’ our harbor.”

  Varinn’s dragon spoke up. I will go with Dyrfinna, and bring the king back, or die trying.

  “I grant you leave to go,” Hedgehog said.

  Dyrfinna thought of the war against the queen that was raging on. To split Varinn’s forces—to take away some of his fighting force for this operation—would leave him weak and vulnerable to attack from Queen Saehildr. But the queen had unjustly blamed her daughter’s death on King Varinn. And she had killed his little son.

  “If I may make a suggestion,” Dyrfinna said to Hedgehog. “We need to parley with the queen’s forces. What affects your dragons affects theirs too, like it or not. You might be able to talk reason to them. Perhaps we can call off the conflict until this one is resolved.”

  Hedgehog shook her head. “After what Queen Saehildr did ta Varinn’s wee son, I dona ken that we want ta. Go now, ta yer troops. We will see what we can do fer ye.”

  Dyrfinna went down the stairs following Hedgehog’s adjutant, deep in thought. How many dragons had Nauma raised from the dead? How would Dyrfinna be able to fight against them with her small army?

  “Strategy, my dear, strategy,” she said, imitating her lost friend Hakr, the old captain. She’d have to work this problem out once she was on the water with her army.

  My army, she thought, excitement rising in her. Her army, which she would lead against someone who was truly evil. An independent force—and she would not be in the field, fighting against old friends.

  I have an army again.

  She felt a hiccup of joy. But she gently set it aside for the time being. She had work to do.

  In moments, the great doors opened. Dyrfinna walked into the dark place where her soldiers, and so many other prisoners, were cooling their heels.

  “I am Dyrfinna of Skala,” she called. “I am taking you out of here to fight a force that is neither of the king or queen, but a true enemy. If you remember Nauma, who some of us fought a little while ago, we are moving against her to finally take her down. I need an army to go out and fight the child-killers. I need your help, all of you.”

  The cheering rose up from the troops so loudly that dust drifted down from the ceiling and bats flew everywhere, confused by the noise.

  “Get us out of here, and we’ll fly to the sun for you,” someone shouted.

  “No need to do that. Just help me vanquish the child-killers,” she said, and everybody cheered again.

  Her warriors, and many others, tottered out into the light, rejoicing to see the sun and the ocean again.

  Several of her old crew brought Ragnarok to her. Dyrfinna gasped to see the wound on his forehead.

  “Good to see you,” he said, his eyes roving all over. “If I could see you.”

  “What happened to you?” Dyrfinna asked, shocked.

  “A head wound that’s not healing,” one of them explained. “We’ve been trying to do the healing work since Gefjun had to leave.”

  “We’re just not skilled like she is,” another of them added.

  “Please send for your best healer,” Dyrfinna told the adjutant. After a short while, a medic came hurrying down from Varinn’s keep.

  Before long, Dyrfinna stood next to her ship as it was being loaded. A line of people came down the pier with various supplies, heaving bags over the side, or rolling barrels up a ramp into the ship. Varinn’s bursar was giving each member of Dyrfinna’s crew a bag of hacksilver for their time in captivity. Hedgehog had given orders to provision the two ships with supplies, plus extra rations for an extended sail. She’d also given Dyrfinna a third ship to accommodate all the former prisoners. Now Dyrfinna would have a proper army to fight Nauma and whatever waited for them across the sea.

  “It should do well if you live off what the ocean gives you along the way,” said the bursar as he handed Dyrfinna a small bag of gold and silver.

  Dyrfinna swore she would. They had some good nets and spears for the purpose. They had been allowed to keep most of their weapons, but the armorers outfitted those who needed weapons or armor.

  “Sissy, Sissy!” piped a little voice she loved.

  Dyrfinna turned. Little Aesa came running through all the men and women loading the ship, with Sóma following behind. “Sissy!” she cried, and Dyrfinna swooped her up in a big hug. “Sissy, I’m going with you!”

  “You are?” Dyrfinna said, feigning surprise, her little sister now in her arms.

  “Yeah, ’cause I’m staying with you from now on.”

  “I was going to take you home to Mommy,” Dyrfinna said.

  Aesa frowned. “I miss Mommy.”

  “I miss her too. She must be worried sick. So I’m going to take you home as quick as I can. Okay?”

  “Okay!”

  Then Dyrfinna tickled Aesa, who squirmed and laughed until she wriggled her way out of Dyrfinna’s arms and back to the ground.

  Dyrfinna turned to Sóma, who had finally caught up. “Thank you!” she called to Sóma and gave her a big hug.

  “You’re very welcome.” Sóma knelt down and wrapped Aesa in her arms. “I’ll miss you, little bird. Come back someday.”

  Dyrfinna followed Aesa on board.

  “I’m a pirate!” Aesa ran from one end of the ship to the other, screaming the whole way.

  Ragnarok, who was now getting bandaged up, waved Aesa over, and she sat on his knee while he sang songs to her. Aesa’s laugh followed Dyrfinna as she left to help with the loading of the ships.

  At last, when all were ready to go and loaded, the three ships headed out into the water, a freshening breeze rising over the salt sea. Dyrfinna’s heart rose. At last, to be back in the action. It was all she’d ever wanted, all her life.

  “Whenever possible, we’re going to take the queen’s ships prisoner,” Dyrfinna told her crew. “We need all the help we can get against the undead dragons. And,” she added, “I’m all for swiping a few ships out of my father’s hands so they won’t be ground to death under Sinkr’s bad commandership.”

  A great cheer met this edict. Dyrfinna smiled grimly. Maybe Sinkr had figured out how to lead an army after her father had exiled her from the queen’s forces. But she doubted it.

  The rowers leapt to their benches. “Race out of the harbor!” she called to all three ships, and the rowers cheered.

  “We’re a little out of shape, but we’ll do our best for you, Commander!” shouted one of the rowers.

  “That’s all I need. And you’ll get back in shape soon enough, I promise.”

  A series of cheers went up. “Here’s to Commander Dyrfi
nna!”

  “Ships! Line up!” she called.

  At once the ships went quiet. The three ships lined up, side by side, in the water, their figureheads all pointing at the open ocean. Out in the blue of the water and sky, a small bird fluttered between earth and heaven.

  “The ships are lined up, Commander,” someone said. The rowers sat poised at their oars.

  “Ready!” Dyrfinna called.

  All was quiet.

  “Set!”

  “Hurry up, Sissy,” Aesa piped into the silence.

  Dyrfinna grinned.

  Whatever happened in the future, she always had this moment, this little moment suspended between what had been and what was to be.

  “GO!”

  With a shout, a hundred oarsmen heaved on the oars and the ships leapt forward like dolphins. A great cheer went up from Varinn’s keep and the people hanging over the balconies, and from the warriors who were holding on for dear life on those flying ships.

  This is a good way to fly into the next great adventure, Dyrfinna thought, and hugged her little sister.

  THE END

  Continue for a preview of the third book in the series, A Crown of Flame

  PREORDER BOOK THREE

  A CROWN OF FLAMES

  by Pauline Creeden and Melinda R. Cordell

  Part Three of the Dragonriders of Skala series

  A First Meal

  Nauma’s very first memory was of a man she didn’t know grabbing her by her hair and yanking her off her feet.

  She was the town scapegoat, long after her mother had died. Her mother was a witch. So what? Those small-minded people had hated her mother with a burning passion, and they’d hated Nauma, even when she was a little toddling child. They hated her when she became an awkward, cringing girl, and their hatred had only intensified when her mother died when she was eleven years old. Everybody blamed Nauma for her mother’s death, even though they’d despised her mother when she was still alive and looked the other way when people would trip her in the streets. But once she was dead, she was a saint, and more people glared at Nauma, or hissed at her, or spit on her, or worse.

  That’s small-town logic for you.

  They knew Nauma had a fiery temper. They loved to trip her up in the street. The men would grab her in dark corners of the town and force her to endure their kisses, then call her a slut.

  And so she did small acts of revenge. She started rumors that set families against families. She’d steal valued possessions, heirlooms, and fling them into the ocean. She would quietly and slowly poison people by feeding their chickens and goats certain herbs that the animals could tolerate, but the poison would pass into their milk and eggs, and pretty soon that man who caught her unawares and tried to force her would grow thin and lose all his hair, and would be so sick he couldn’t leave the house. Or the woman who’d pinched her and called her a slut in the marketplace would wake up one morning and realize that her bed was full of vermin, crawling with lice and fleas.

  She could collect only little things that gave her satisfaction.

  And even then, she’d had to flee the village for a while because they blamed her for all these things, and they’d come for her. They wanted to capture her and burn her alive.

  So she’d run. But Nauma bided her time.

  The big revenge … that was all she wanted.

  She’d stopped feeling indignation over that memory a long time ago. About eighteen years after that memory had taken place – she couldn’t remember if she had been two years old or three – she’d killed the hair-pulling man, his family, and many of the children in that town.

  It had been easy. There’s come news of an invasion, and while the men of the town ran out to defend their families, she went to all their hiding place and killed the families as they cowered in the dark.

  She’d found the hair-pulling man. She reminded him, pointedly, of the first memory that had been imprinted in her brain. She’d told him, in detail, how his hair-pulling stunt had made her feel (ugh, emotion) as she’d watched the blood run from his body and the light drain out of his eyes.

  After that, she’d shaken the dirt of that place from her boots and she had left behind the dead.

  She’d been glad to exact her revenge and then leave the place she’d hated so acutely for so long.

  It made her want to repeat the experience.

  And so, here she was again, standing in the blood of all those she’d killed, pleased with herself.

  Her undead army stirred restlessly, perhaps stirred by her restlessness. Or, maybe they were hungry.

  She sneered in disgust. “Am I going to have to feed you after all?” she asked.

  The undead soldiers moaned.

  “Then again,” she added, “All you need is some delicious red meat. Or maybe you could drink some sweet blood. Look at all this blood on the ground. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  Some of them didn’t respond. But others knelt and began drinking, placing their faces in the blood, or scooping it up in their hands and drinking it from their palms.

  “There you go, I can see who the smart ones are in this bunch,” Nauma said, stepping back as the other undead began to follow suit.

  She sat down on a dragon skull to glare at the gigantic rose bower that Gefjun and the King had created to cover themselves and their soldiers and keep them safe from Nauma and her troops. Unable to make an undead army from those prisoners, she’d simply slaughtered her own troops and made an army from them instead.

  The great rose bramble grew in the snow, and from its branches grew roses streaked with red and white, each rose burning with a small scented flame—just in case you couldn’t tell this bramble growing in the snow was enchanted. Personally, Nauma thought the flames were just a little over the top.

  She peered through the thick branches, trying to catch a glimpse of the sleeping soldiers inside, as well as King Varinn and Gefjun, but a couple of thorns grew out under her hand and face, trying to impale her. She backed up, cursing.

  Inside that bramble, in peaceful, enchanted sleep, was the undead army she should have had, all of whom were unfortunately quite alive and well. And, by the looks of things, a future queen was in there as well.

  Nauma took stock. She longed to fire more power at the brambles, but they simply soaked up her attacks as if they were sunlight. She noted with disgust a spot in the rosebush that she had blasted. Instead of crumbling to ash, as it should have done, it had merely grown a cubit taller, though the rose leaves there looked as if they’d been scalded by the sun. But that was all the damage it took, and then, just to add insult to injury, it had put out new leaves in a handsome bronze color.

  Her troops had drunk their fill of blood. The undead dragons were lapping the blood from the floor, half-starved.

  When they finally finished, she was pleased. Her army, drunk on their own blood, ready to fight for her.

  Their hunger was sated. But she knew their hunger wouldn’t be sated for long.

  “Follow me,” she said. “Come with me, and I’ll lead you to where battlefields are full of living fighters. You’ll be able to eat and drink your fill of hot flesh and steaming blood.”

  She grinned at the prospect. This was going to be fun.

  And so they started the long trek down the mountain.

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  Continue for a preview of the Dragon Riders of Skala Prequel

  We’ve written a prequel to the Dragonriders of Skala series which will appear in the Of Fate and Legend box set. Order a copy today!

  A WHISPER OF SMOKE

  Prequel to the Dragonriders of Skala series

  by Pauline Creeden and Melinda R. Cordell

  From a whisper of smoke … to an apocalypse of fire.

  Skeggi has been raising his brothers ever since their parents died last year. One respite from his never-ending work as a parent is the time he spends with his sword-friends, learning to fight and fly dragons. But during battle-practice
on dragonback, Skeggi accidentally stumbles upon an invasion force of Danes preparing to attack his city, and all hell breaks loose.

  As the city prepares for war, Skeggi and his friends are sent on a mission to bring back the Queen’s daughter. The sword-friends run into the forest on a perilous journey. Not only must they rescue the Queen’s daughter, but they must escape the wrath of the Dane’s commander, Iron Skull, one of the most dangerous men of Viking legend. The sword-friends have found someone that Iron Skull considers more valuable than gold—his thrall girl. And now he is hunting them to get her back.

  The sword-friends are going to be hard-pressed to get back to their homes … if they even survive the journey.

  A Whisper of Smoke

  Skeggi had the worst time getting out of the house that morning. Every single one of his little brothers was being a complete butt. Agi and Juti got into a fight and he had to swat them both and separate them. Tuni ate half the bread that was meant for the whole family that day, then complained because his tummy hurt. And Ragnarr swanned out the door before Skeggi could drag him back to help with cooking fish for breakfast.

  “Get back here!” Skeggi called, running to the front door with a half-filleted halibut in his hand. “You can help with the cooking for one morning in your life.”

  “I feed myself, I’m fine,” Ragnarr shouted over his shoulder. He kept walking, only a little faster. His hair was all slicked back and he was wearing three rings and his fine cloak. He was off to wink at the girls at the tavern.

  Skeggi hoped that the girls would hit him upside the head. Maybe that would knock some sense into him.

  Skeggi slammed the door behind his lazy brother. Then he sighed, finished filleting, and threw the fish in the pot with the rest of them to cook. If he had any sense, he’d kick that freeloader out of his house. Let him find work to support himself, buy his own food.