Dragon Bewitched

by Isadora Montrose

  “Is the leather ready?” asked Valdar. He was impatient to see the sword finished. Bloodthirsty or nostalgic?

  “It is.” Brand was winding the leather onto a shaven stick. “Another few turns and we’re done.”

  The sticky resin held the greasy leather in place. Valdar held the sword erect with a heavy leather gauntlet, lest the razor-sharp blade gash his hand. Brand carefully wound the leather from pommel to the top of the hilt. “There should be a jewel to anchor it,” he said. “I had forgotten.”

  Darius opened his rucksack and took out his traveling hoard. “Will a gold coin suffice?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  He removed his lucky ducat. Wrong century. But he didn’t think anachronism mattered to these dudes. He tossed Brand his coin. The other man bit it. Well, of course.

  “How will we make it stick?” Brand asked.

  “More resin,” Darius suggested.

  “I’ll do it.” Valdar smeared resin on both the top of the hilt and the coin and slammed the two together. He grasped the sword two-handed and swung it over his head. The blade whistled as loudly as Darius could when flying.

  “Let me,” demanded Brand.

  They were like two boys squabbling over a single Christmas gift. But at least they did not turn the sword on Darius.

  “Are you sure no one goes a-viking anymore?” asked Valdar.

  “I’m sure,” Darius said firmly. “The only pirates we have hold ships for ransom. There are no undiscovered lands.” Best not to tell him of the Russian dragons who had given the Guild of Dragons such trouble in recent years.*

  “Nothing wrong with ransom,” said Brand musingly.

  “Don’t even dream,” Darius warned them. “These days we have weapons that will kill you before you can draw a broadsword. Even dragons have given up raiding as a way to get rich. Trade is far easier. And more profitable.” He had visions of these two being taken out by an assault rifle.

  “What do you trade?” Valdar asked.

  “Many things. Land. Oil. Wheat.” He really did not feel up to explaining the modern economy to these guys right this minute. “Now that you have your father’s sword back, do you think that I have earned an hour or two with your sister?”

  Brand laughed. “First you must bathe and take a sauna. You cannot go a-wooing in your dirt.”

  Darius rubbed his face. His hand came away black and grimy. “Certainly.” He was Swedish. A sauna sounded like paradise.

  *Dragon’s Treasure

  Dragon’s Pleasure

  Dragon’s Possession

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Freya~

  The sound of three deep voices belting out an old battle song decided her. Her brothers had taken to Darius. How well she knew them. They might drink with an enemy, but teach him the songs her clan sang as they slew? Never. Darius had her brothers’ trust.

  They had been mending more than metal in that cave. But gaining her brothers’ approval was only the first of the hurdles that Darius had to clear. He had to take her as an old woman, or not at all. To love her with thick ankles and thicker waist. To take her, wrinkles and all.

  When all was said and done, it wasn’t even a lie. She was not seventeen or even twenty-seven, but so old that age had no meaning. She required true love from her husband. It was true love that would release her from Snorre’s curse. If Darius Einerson wielder of the powerful celfone, loved only her youth and beauty, he was no good to her. No good at all.

  She was standing with her back to the door, bending over the stew pot, when Valdar and Brand stood aside and bade their guest enter. She had changed her red linsey-woolsey dress for one of coarse, unbleached cloth. She had dressed her hair in a bun on the back of her head and tinted it the same gray he had praised last winter. She turned slowly to greet him, mindful of her belly.

  “Freya!” Darius’ voice was joyful.

  Strong arms swept her against a broad chest. Lips pressed kisses on her cheeks and brow. “Freya,” said his deep voice. “I don’t know how it is possible, but I seem to have granted your dearest wish.” He set her down carefully, but not before she felt his thing poking her belly. His Dik.

  He gazed down into her eyes, and his were full of tears. “How can this be?” he wondered aloud.

  She wasn’t about to explain how making babies worked. Not in front of her brothers, she wasn’t. “The usual way, I suppose.”

  “You are a miracle, Lady Freya. This is proof our match was meant.” He kissed her soundly once more, turned with her in the curve of his arm. “Don’t you agree, fellows?” he asked her brothers.

  Those great louts were pink and shiny from their sauna and their bath in the river. They shuffled their feet like boys and nodded. “Maybe,” said Valdar cautiously. That was more like her suspicious brother.

  Brand recovered. He winked at her when Darius kissed her neck. At least, she thought he meant to kiss her there, but he only sniffed her skin and shook his head like a man bemused. The tears in his eyes spilled over and rolled down his cheeks. They plinked on the flagstones like a handful of pebbles.

  Brand laughed and picked them up. “Do you cry diamonds, brother?” he asked jovially. “We shall have to make you weep often.”

  “Yes,” Darius said simply.

  “Brothers,” she said sharply. “Go bring me more driftwood for the fire.”

  Valdar would have argued, for the bin was almost full, but Brand dragged him out of the kitchen. “We won’t be long, sister,” he called as he banged the door.

  “Welcome,” she said to Darius and turned her face up for another kiss.

  But he surprised her by dropping to his knees. He took her left hand in his and stroked it gently. “I see you have kept my gift, but declined the giver,” he said sorrowfully.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because, you put my ring on the wrong finger.” His fingers tickled her palm.

  What could he mean? “I put it where a married woman wears her wedding ring. On my left forefinger, where the vein goes to straight to the heart.”

  “Ah. I will have to give you another for this finger.” He kissed the second smallest of her fingers. “For this is where women wear wedding rings now.” He gulped. “Lady Freya, will you be my wife?”

  “Gladly, if you truly wish it.”

  He kissed her belly. “Even before I knew why your brothers were so angry with me, I wished to marry you, Freya of the long hair. Now that I feel my babies move inside you, I wish it more, and soon.”

  She stroked his crisp gold hair, still damp from his plunge in the river. “Have you completed the tasks set by my brothers?”

  “Only one of them. But I will accomplish all, as soon as I can.”

  Easily spoken, but deeds, not words, were what was needed. “If my brothers agree, I will wed you.”

  He rose swiftly to his feet. Brand and Valdar had dressed him after their labors. He looked wonderful in a green shirt and pants. Wonderful in deerskin shoes. He embraced her and his mouth sought hers. He kissed her as a man claims his wife after a year-long voyage. He kissed her as a man kisses a woman he desires. His Dik poked her again.

  All too soon he set her aside, while her heart was still beating like a drum and her lips were still unsatisfied. Her cunt throbbed and her babies leaped in protest at the clenching of her womb.

  “Brand and Valdar will soon be back with that firewood,” he said in resignation. “Before they come, tell me why, Freya, why you sent me away?”

  “To test your heart,” she said simply.

  “Has it passed your test?”

  “I think so.”

  “Only think?”

  “There remains one thing you haven’t done.” Surely now he would declare his love?

  “I will leave tonight to find the ship your brothers desire, and the wergild too.”

  That was not what she had meant. Not at all. But her brothers tramped into the kitchen, their arms full of dry driftwood that they piled noisily in
the bin.

  “What’s to eat?” Valdar cried. “We have labored long this day, and the sword of Foreseti the Wise is whole once more.”

  She knew that. It was hanging at Valdar’s hip in a scarlet scabbard. But she smiled. “Show it to me, brother.”

  He drew it and as the firelight and the sun touched the blade it flashed with all its old brilliance. “It is well,” she said. “But hang it by the fire, for we have no enemies here on Balder.”

  To her surprise, Valdar did not argue. He hung the sword in its scabbard on the great iron hooks they had sunk into the stone when they rebuilt the homestead. That boded well for her happiness.

  “Sit, Dragon,” cried Brand. “We will not celebrate your betrothal, for your challenges are not yet fulfilled. But we will celebrate the mending of Ravensblade. From this day forward this shall be a day of thanksgiving for our clan. Bring ale, sister, that we may drink!”

  “Nay,” said Darius cheerfully. “Your sister has been toiling over a hot fire to make the meal. Let her sit and rest with her feet up. Pregnant women tire easily.”

  Did he mean she looked tired and old? Or was he merely being kind? Darius ushered her to her chair and brought an old three-legged stool for her to put her feet on. “You sit here and grow your babies,” he said. “Tell me where the dishes are, and I will lay the table.”

  He chivvied her brothers into doing women’s work, and then they all sat down to eat the stew she had prepared, and the bread she had baked. They drank ale and toasted the blade they had repaired. When the meal was finished, she cleared the broken meats and the dirty plates with a wave of her hand. Expecting her brothers to scour greasy dishes was madness. But using magic for these chores tired her even more.

  Darius stood and raised his silver cup. “To the cook,” he cried. “Long may she reign in this kitchen.” He sat back down. “Now tell me what became of that other house?”

  Naturally he had noticed how fine this stone-built house was compared to the wooden longhouse she had conjured for him. “`Twas just illusion,” she confessed. “I did not wish us to appear too rich when we entertained a strange dragon.”

  He nodded and looked around him as if the dressed stone walls pleased him. As well they should. They were thick enough to keep the worst of the winter wind out, and stout enough to be cool on the hottest day. Why, she even had a chimney to let the smoke of the fire out!

  “Will we live here, Freya, when we are married? Or will you come with me to my country and live among my kin?”

  Her brothers stared at him in consternation. That had never occurred to them. How often had they longed to leave this place? But now the thought of it was terrifying. To live among strangers, in a strange country, as her sisters had had to? Could she do so?

  Did she wish to live in the house of his mother and be scolded daily? She wanted a house of her own. Here she was mistress. Beneath her twisting hands, her babies bounced as if they longed to travel.

  “Who will guard the trees?” she asked, “If I go away?”

  Her question startled Darius. She saw it in his narrowed eyes. “Do they need protection?” he asked.

  “If no one guards them, men will come and cut them down, and Balder will be as bare as Iceland.”

  “Hmm. Couldn’t Brand and Valdar guard them?” he asked.

  Brand and Valdar crossed their arms, uncrossed them, crossed them once more. “We will seek wives when you are wed. We will not be tied to the island.” This was true. Since they had been cursed, they had been unable to sail out of sight of the island.

  “Where will you bring your wives when you have found them?” Darius asked softly.

  Where indeed? Not to this house. She would not share her hearth with other women. But close by. “You will have to build your own houses, before you seek wives,” she said.

  “Yes, indeed,” cried Brand. But his voice sounded hollow to her ears. As did Valdar’s hearty echo.

  No more than she, had they thought about the future and how different it would be. After the long centuries, change was coming, and she did not know what it would bring. It was an uncomfortable prospect. Some of the joy died in her heart.

  “You and Freya can live here on Balder in this house,” blustered Valdar. “She would not be happy anywhere else.”

  “I can see that,” Darius said mildly. “Well, I am agreeable. This is as lovely a spot as any on earth. If you will come with me occasionally to visit my family.”

  She nodded. Visiting she could manage.

  He rose and set his goblet down. “I will leave while the sun is high, for it will not set tonight, and I have far to sail. When I return we will have a wedding.” He held out his hand first to Brand and then to Valdar.

  “I will walk down to the bay with you,” she said.

  “Thank you.” He offered her his arm, and they walked together, hips bumping, down to where his slim white boat was moored.

  “Goodbye, Freya my heart.” He kissed her.

  Her arms went around his neck. She wished Brand and Valdar had not as good as sent him away. He would go and never return to his fat bride, who did not wish to live with his mother.

  “Tell me something,” he whispered into her hair.

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “Why aren’t you a dragoness?”

  “Why in the world should I be?”

  “It is the way of our race. When we lie with a virgin, we transform her into a dragoness. Yet you are not transformed – even though you carry my children.”

  She laughed at his solemn face. “I do not take a form that has no use to me,” she informed him. “I could become a dragoness if I wished it – although I do not know if that would do my babies harm – nor why I should wish to.”

  “So you too are a shapeshifter – like your brothers?”

  “Of course.” And a sorceress and a farseer. “Why should I need to be a dragoness to bear your child?”

  He shrugged. “It is the way of our race. We can have children only with a dragoness. But here you are, carrying my sons under your heart.”

  “They may be daughters,” she protested. She would like to have daughters.

  “That would be a miracle too great to wish for. But on this island, all things seem possible.” He kissed her again. “Walk carefully, my dear. I will return as soon as I can. What would you like as a wedding present?”

  Your love. But what she said was, “Your safe return.”

  “I can do better than that.” And then he was gone, sailing into the wind. She watched him until he slipped over the horizon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Lind Island

  Darius~

  “So, you’ve found a mate, have you?” Thorvald Lindorm said. “I don’t see why you needed secrecy to tell me such good news!”

  Darius glanced around at his uncle’s study. The windowless stone walls were paneled in elegant whitewashed oak, and the stone floors made comfortable with hand-loomed blue carpets. But it was still a safe-room, soundproofed and impregnable, nestled in the heart of the Thane of Lindorm’s sixteen century castle.

  It was in fact a perfect place to make his revelations. The Eldest could bawl him out in decent privacy. “My mate is a little different,” Darius admitted. “And I have not told even my parents about Freya.”

  “Not a virgin?” asked Thorvald sadly. He seemed resigned. His blue eyes ceased to dance and his long fingers tapped the leather armrests of his desk chair.

  “Not anymore,” Darius said proudly. “Freya is going to have twins at Christmastime. Or thereabouts.”

  “Twins? You’re sure?” Uncle Thorvald perked up.

  “I heard at least two fetal heartbeats, as well as hers. But she is big enough that there might be three. See for yourself, sir.” He had surreptitiously taken photographs of Freya and her brothers while they were hanging the Ravensblade.

  As he might have expected, the Eldest was more interested in the sword than the people in the photographs. “A dragon
-killer,” he said thoughtfully. “I thought all those swords were destroyed eons ago.”

  “It is the sword of my bride’s father,” he explained. “It had been broken, but I helped reforge it as part of her bride price.”

  “Bride price? Just who are these people?” Thorvald tapped the screen and zoomed in on Freya. “She looks too old to be pregnant. Surely this old woman cannot be your mate?” His eyes pierced Darius’ like lasers, and his heavy brows rose.

  “Freya has won my heart. And as you see, she is pregnant. Even if I did not love her – and I do – I would have to marry the mother of my children.”

  “You’re sure she’s pregnant. She must be at least fifty.” Thorvald was skeptical.

  “She is far older than that, sir. She and her brothers are the sons of Foreseti the Wise. He was killed by Snorre the Thief.”

  Lord Lindorm snorted. “That would make her at least a thousand years old. She’s pulled the wool over your eyes, my boy.”

  “No, sir. Do you remember when I was lost in the winter?”

  “How could I forget? We thought you dead.” Remembered grief showed in his uncle’s face.

  “I was thrown off the ice cliff on Mount Bradur,” he said. “Freya and her brothers rescued me and she nursed me back to health. She asked a boon in return for my life, I granted it, and found my mate.”

  “A boon?”

  “She wanted a child.”

  “And you agreed?” Thorvald said in disbelief.

  “I was still concussed, sir. But I think any man would have seized the opportunity to lie with Freya of the long hair. She is well named, sir, and has charms that many younger women could envy.” His uncle knew as well as he did of the legends surrounding the Norse goddess of love.

  “You wish to tell me that this gray-haired woman was a virgin, and you transformed her?”

  “That is part of the mystery surrounding the Lady Freya and the island of Balder, sir. Freya is a witch and a shapeshifter, although I have not seen her shift and she smells like no dragoness I’ve ever encountered. But be assured, sir, she bears my children.”